


Twice in a Blue Moon

by carmenta



Series: Young, Hot and Royal [6]
Category: Royalty RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-25
Updated: 2010-11-25
Packaged: 2017-10-13 08:57:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 126,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/135479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carmenta/pseuds/carmenta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Falling in love with another man is rarely easy. When this man is another prince and heir to a throne on top of that, it gets downright complicated, as Prince Amedeo soon discovers. Once he returns to the royal life after years of freedom, the dynastic expectations, the difficulty of handling formidable princesses and the intricacies of dutiful ribbon-cutting are only the start of the problems he faces in order to get his prince and keep him, too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Ties That Bind: Sheer Luck and the Sympathy of Others](https://archiveofourown.org/works/133828) by [rekishi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rekishi/pseuds/rekishi). 



> Disclaimer: This is real person slash. I want to stress that this is a work of fiction and that all portrayals of real persons are completely fictional interpretations with no relation to reality. I claim no insight into their lives or characters. All future events portrayed in the story are, of course, purely fictional; past events on public record have been used where fitting the story and have been fictionalized accordingly. I intend no harm or insult with this story; no profit is being made.
> 
> To sum it up: this is amateur fiction, not clairvoyance. I'm making this up.
> 
> All real persons obviously belong to themselves, the original characters belong to autumn_belias and me, and yes, it's fiction, totally fiction.

As royal weddings went, they turned into fairly ordinary family affairs once you moved a few steps down the line of succession. There would still be a few hundred invited guests for the main function and there would be plenty of glitter from uniforms, orders and tiaras, but in the end it came down to cousin Imre marrying his little baroness after a few years of happy co-habitation nobody was going be impolite enough to mention. There might be a large number of royalty around, but right now they were playing the roles of aunts, uncles and other relatives rather than do anything representative. And since Imre, despite being an archduke as a member of the most noble and exalted House of Habsburg, was too far removed from any thrones to perform representative duties, the press had been banned from the event and everybody could relax.

His Imperial and Royal Highness, Prince Amedeo Marie Joseph Carl Pierre Philippe Paola Marcus d'Aviano of Belgium, Archduke of Austria-Este, Prince Imperial of Austria, Prince Royal of Hungary and Bohemia, was quite enjoying himself now that nobody was paying him much attention. Family reunions were fun, but there were far too many elderly aunts and uncles around who kept making remarks about him perhaps becoming emperor one day, and whether he wouldn't love that. By now he was growing inwardly tired of pointing out, a polite smile fixed firmly on his face, that he was only sixth in line and unlikely to move up beyond third or fourth place unless he resorted to drastic measures. Even though it had long been a royal tradition, assassination was frowned upon as a means of career advancement these days, quite aside from the fact that there wasn't an actual throne anymore and hadn't been for the past century. But most of his relatives were happy to ignore that little inconvenience, and Amedeo had long given up on trying to make them see sense.

Interruption arrived in form of his mother, resplendent as the official hostess of the whole event and stressed out for weeks now by the knowledge that she'd have, among other guests, a few dozen Habsburg relatives in residence who still had some doubts whether a mere Princess of Belgium was good enough for one of their own. Never mind that it had been almost thirty years now and that Amedeo knew his parents were perfectly happy with each other - dynastic ideas were always a bit tricky with this family, and the oldest generation still went on about the last Princess of Belgium who'd been permitted to marry an Archduke of Austria, and how badly that had turned out.

"Amedeo, dear, you need to do me a favour," his mother told him under her breath as she breezed by. "Go rescue Guillaume. Olympia is getting too flirty with him and I don't think he's enjoying himself. I can't interfere there, I've got to referee between your father and Karl before they can start to disagree on the morganatic marriage issue once again."

And off she was again, to direct and order and meddle and smile and out-princess everyone else in the vicinity.

Amedeo blinked, looked around, spotted the target of his mission and obeyed the maternal command. He wasn't foolish enough to even consider doing anything else, and besides, Guillaume genuinely looked as though he wasn't going to be able to keep that faintly interested look on his face much longer. Cousin Olympia might not be aware of that, but Amedeo had known him since they'd been parked in the sandbox together as children to amuse themselves during extended family gatherings.

Not that he could blame her for deciding that Guillaume made for a tempting target. The Hereditary Grand Duke of Luxembourg, first in line to rule that country once his father chose to hand over the reins, heir to a considerable family fortune, descendant of the Kings of France back to Charlemagne and beyond... and, apart from all the hard facts that made him a dynastically sound choice, someone who was simply easy to _like_. Far too easy, Amedeo sometimes thought, something which brought a number of complications in its wake.

He'd known Guillaume for practically his entire life, not just the earnest, conscientious heir in training but the person behind that dutiful façade, who'd always let him play with the older boys, who'd kept an eye on him during meetings when the adults had been busy, who'd been the target of Amedeo's first crush and, a decade later, the focus of something more serious than that.

"Enjoying yourselves?" he asked, stepping up to the couple. Olympia looked irritated for just a moment at the interruption, then fluttered her eyelashes at Guillaume.

"Of course we are," she cooed. "Isn't that right, Guillaume?"

"How could I argue with a wonderful lady like you?" Guillaume's eyes, when he looked at Amedeo, clearly said ' _get me out of this, I beg you_ ', even while he sounded perfectly charming.

"We really must do something together soon, just the two of us," Olympia told him, her hand on his upper arm in a far too familiar gesture, then deigned to turn towards Amedeo expectantly.

He noted the flirty glint in her eyes, the fact that she'd latched onto a perfectly suitable prince who was her age and whose status as single was well known, and went for, "Prince Carl Philip has been looking a bit lost. Would you mind keeping an eye on him for me?"

It took Olympia a second to make some calculations and arrive at the conclusion that a Swedish Prince trumped a Luxembourgian future Grand Duke with - depending on whether you believed Cousin Carlos of Bourbon-Parma or thought him a windbag - morganatically married parents. "With pleasure," she declared, an entrepreneurial gleam in her eyes. "Guillaume, I will find you again later."

Amedeo and Guillaume watched as she strode across the room towards an unsuspecting Carl Philip, purpose in every step, then turned towards each other.

"Thanks," Guillaume said in a heartfelt tone.

"Don't mention it. Olympia's just a little bit determined to snag herself a husband before the others ruin the selection. It's not like there's a wide choice of princes who're eligible according to the house law." Of a dynasty which ruled a duchy at the very least, preferably Catholic or at least willing to convert... a rare breed these days, and any archduchess who intended to make a match equal to her status had to be swift on her dainty feet and ready to move in for the kill as soon as a suitable bachelor appeared.

"And I'm part of that group?"

Amedeo shot him an amused grin. "Don't tell me you need me to sing your praises. Surely you're getting enough of that from the girls."

For a moment, Guillaume looked as though he were going to say something, but then shook his head, just slightly. "It's not exactly the attention I'm looking for."

"You should be safe from Olympia for the day, but I don't know about the rest. A handsome, single heir to a grand duchy? Who's a nice guy on top of it?" Amedeo gave his shoulder a friendly pat and permitted himself to let his hand linger for just a moment. "You're quite the catch."

***

With the influx of relatives and family friends, there had been some reshuffling of accommodations for the wedding. You just couldn't put anyone into a hotel when others were housed in places belonging to the Belgian Royal Family, for fear of putting a few noses out of joint. And so Amedeo's rooms he still had in his parents' villa in Laeken were requisitioned for their easy accessibility, while he was relegated to a top-floor apartment in one of the smaller chateaus on the grounds. His mother wasn't about to make her guests climb any rickety staircases, but she had no qualms where her son was concerned. Or young Luxembourgian princes, as Amedeo learned when he discovered he had Guillaume to share his temporary exile with.

"One more lunch, then you've survived it," Amedeo said as they sat together on a bench on the little roof terrace that night. He and Guillaume had retreated from the evening's festivities just before midnight, but that had been more a need to escape the crowd and the noise and less a matter of actual exhaustion. So they'd liberated a bottle of wine and gone into hiding.

At his side, Guillaume breathed a deep sigh. "And high time, too. I'm running out of other victims when it comes to redirecting all those well-meaning mothers who try to pitch their daughters to me. In case nobody's told you this yet, your family is insane when it comes to match-making."

Amedeo took a swig from the wine bottle - a very nice Château Haut-Brion Rouge, and they really should have brought glasses to properly appreciate it - then passed it to Guillaume. "It's the house hobby, there's nothing I can do about it," he said. "The best approach is to just smile and play along. Everybody expects you to make a move in the next week or so if you're genuinely interested."

"Or no reaction in case I'm not?" Guillaume asked, toying with the neck of the bottle. "Because really, your cousins may be nice, but... no."

"Then don't do anything, they'll get the message. There may be a few sad looks the next time you see them, but overall it's understood how this works. They've tried, you've refused, and these days you don't have to worry that there'll be a retaliatory declaration of war." Amedeo settled into a comfortable slouch against the bench's back rest and stretched his legs, his knee brushing against Guillaume's in a move that wasn't entirely accidental.

"As if anyone would bother going to war about me," Guillaume said with a little laugh and set the wine down on the ground with a quiet clink.

"Fishing for compliments, are you?" Amedeo gave him a lazy grin in return. "I'd go to war for you. If this were two centuries ago and I actually had some sort of military following, that is. We seem to have misplaced the family army. But really, it should be the sentiment that counts, don't you think? I could always challenge the other interested parties to a duel over you as an alternative if you'd like."

There was an instant of contemplative silence from his left, long enough that Amedeo started to wonder whether he'd really be calling out Olympia for pistols at dawn.

"If I'm interested," Guillaume said eventually, "I'm supposed to make a move? What sort of move?"

"About the people who've been flirting with you today?" Amedeo shrugged and tried not to show his dismay at the thought. "Something that makes your intentions plain, that should do it."

Whatever he had expected next, it hadn't been for Guillaume to lean in and kiss him.

For a moment he froze, too surprised to react at suddenly finding himself in a situation he'd only considered in theory and day-dreaming so far. But when he felt Guillaume pull back with a soft, regretful sigh, he swiftly reached up, caught him at the nape of his neck, brought their mouths together again into a proper kiss, and turned theory into practise.

It wasn't even as if Amedeo hadn't had fairly solid suspicions about Guillaume's leanings, or any illusions about himself for that matter. But there was a huge difference between occasionally entertaining some thoughts to that effect and indulging himself in a bit of harmless flirting, and in actually acting on it.

They eventually broke apart for breath, their foreheads touching, Amedeo's hand still keeping Guillaume in place.

"Was that enough to make myself clear?" Guillaume asked, his voice a rough whisper.

Amedeo pretended to consider it. "I might need some more convincing," he countered, unable to quite keep the smile from his face. "Just to be sure. I wouldn't want to be mistaken, after all."

"Amedeo..." His name was said with just a hint of exasperation, and he closed the distance between them again to make up for it.

***

Flying back and forth between New York and Brussels on the weekend soon became a regular occurrence for both of them. It was a good thing Amedeo had no trouble treating the eight hour flight as a chance to sleep (it wasn't as if there was anything else to do, he certainly wasn't flying for the food), because when there were just 48 hours available to them to see each other, every single one of them had to count. His frequent flier miles were going through the roof.

At least nobody batted an eyelash at the fact that he and Guillaume were spending more time together at a sudden. After twenty years of regular official and private visits from the Luxembourgian Royal Family to Brussels, none of the guards and secretaries at Laeken gave it a second thought when Guillaume showed up to stay for the weekend. Amedeo wasn't entirely sure what they thought about it, but he was willing to bet it had nothing to do with the facts and he certainly wasn't going to ask, sleeping dogs and all that. It was tricky enough to keep a relationship private as a member of a royal family, and having said relationship with another royal, and a male one at that, just piled on the complications. For now, Amedeo was happy to let anyone believe whatever they wanted as long as they didn't come too close to the truth.

This weekend they were lucky: his parents were off on a minor state visit to Portugal along with his two youngest siblings, and Maria Laura and Joachim were not yet home for their summer holidays. A perfect constellation as far as Amedeo was concerned; even the housekeeper had been given the weekend off under the assumption that since the eldest prince managed to fend for himself in New York most of the time, he'd not perish if left to his own devices for a few days.

"Missed me, did you?" he asked with a chuckle when he was caught in a tight embrace as soon as the entrance door fell shut behind them.

Guillaume laughed quietly. "For some reason, yes," he said and drew Amedeo down for a kiss that wasn't even close to satisfactory after two weeks of separation.

They wound up sprawled on Amedeo's bed eventually, comfortable enough with each other by now that neither of them was overthinking the situation. Or at least Amedeo hoped that he wasn't the only one who was gradually managing to let go of the constant worries that had dominated their first few days together as more than friends. One of the discoveries about Guillaume these days was that he had a definite tendency to overanalyse situations, though he might have a point in this case.

It was the one glaring disadvantage of turning twenty years of friendship into a relationship: the persistent risk that they might break something irreparably if this didn't work out and lose their rapport in turn, just for a bit of fun and temporary satisfaction. That awareness had kept the initial steps awkward enough that Amedeo had occasionally felt like tearing his hair in frustration until he'd had enough, sat Guillaume down for a talk, and cleared up a few things with him to make sure they were on the same page.

If they'd just been after sex, he thought as he shifted a bit to let Guillaume's hand slip underneath the hem of his shirt, cool and smooth against the skin of his belly, then there'd have been far less complicated options. Finding someone to spend the night with was easy enough if you knew how to be discreet about it, and it was equally simple to turn it into a bit of romance for a month or two until the novelty wore off. There'd always be plenty of people happy enough to bed royalty, after all. No, the difficult bit was finding someone who didn't care about that particular status, and by now Amedeo had a healthy appreciation for those among his peers who'd managed to do so. Sincere friendships, in his experience, were a lot more valuable and harder to come by than the chance for a swift roll in the hay, and with Guillaume he wasn't going to risk the former for the latter. This was too important to gamble for a bit of lust, no matter how tempting, and he clung to that determination.

Which was gradually turning their weekends together into frustrating exercises of restraint. They touched, they petted. They kissed, a lot, really. They shared a bed at night, albeit strictly for sleeping. And while Amedeo found it highly reassuring to know that they could manage that and still keep their friendship as it had been, just with added dimensions, he also found it increasingly difficult not to grab Guillaume and shag his brains out.

Patience was supposedly a virtue but right now that was the last thing on Amedeo's mind, especially when Guillaume was getting far too good at drawing reactions from him with just a few caresses to sensitive spots. He'd never have thought that an innocent little touch to his hip could be quite that arousing, or that a slow stroke of a hand along his spine from neck to tailbone might leave him shivering with anticipation.

With a growl of frustration he rolled onto his back, putting some distance between them to regain his balance. At least there weren't any concerns on his mind anymore about this being a fleeting attraction rather than something serious. Fleeting attractions didn't keep you awake at night for weeks at a time.

"Too much?" Guillaume asked, but didn't reach for him again.

Amedeo turned his head to look at him and cracked a smile. "Not enough," he answered. "This really would be so much easier if we hadn't known each other since playing in the sandbox together."

"It helps when I think about all the times you hit me with your shovel like the little brat you were, instead of playing nice." Guillaume took a deep, steadying breath, and another, then shook his head. "You know, we don't _have_ to be so civilised about it. It's not like anyone can make us."

"Don't even think it." Amedeo glared at him but reached out to take his hand, unable to completely forgo contact. "We really need to be sure about this, or we'll spend the next seventy years having mortifying family gatherings."

At least they only shared one set of great-grandparents; anything closer and it would have been an added complication to it all. Second cousins was something Amedeo could live with; by his family's standards that made them practically strangers, and among the rest of the European nobility it was reasonably acceptable and a far smaller issue than the fact that both of them were men.

Which, as far as he was concerned, was a secondary concern; while he certainly appreciated women under the right circumstances, what he and Guillaume were tentatively starting here was a different case altogether. This wasn't just a harmless bit of fun, this _mattered_ too much to both of them to be careless in any way. After all this time of thinking of a relationship with Guillaume as definitely desirable but ultimately far too unlikely, Amedeo wasn't about to risk it for physical gratification. Yet.

Next time, he thought, absently running his thumb across the back of Guillaume's hand. A little more, next time. Because any longer than that and they might as well join a monastery.

"What's your schedule for the coming weekends?" he asked, aiming for casual and failing miserably.

Guillaume thought for a moment, then grimaced. "I've got a state visit in St. Petersburg next Saturday, a leftover from that last time I was in Russia, when the planes were down. And the week after that I'm supposed to check in on Alexandra and help her pack up for the summer holidays, so that's out as well."

The eternal demands of work and family. Amedeo pinched the bridge of his nose with his free hand to keep from sighing at the frustrating inevitability of it all. "The week after that?"

"Harry's wedding. We got the invitation just today, and Father doesn't think it would be diplomatic to send Louis, no matter how fitting, so I get to go."

"Whose wedding?" Amedeo asked, confused as to the reason why Guillaume suddenly had such an expression of mirth on his face.

"Of course, you just spent a day on a plane and cut off from the news. Prince Harry and his mystery girlfriend. You'll probably have an invitation too once you get home. An announcement right now, and a wedding in less than four weeks... Seems they decided to pretend that there isn't something going on."

A logical reaction for a royal house if the girl truly had a baby on the way, Amedeo knew. Guillaume's brother had been a unique case in that they'd actually waited for the child to be born before they'd married him off. It seemed the Brits weren't about to follow that same path, and opted for propriety instead. At least, as much propriety as was possible in a situation where the bride would be visibly well-rounded.

"Might be a whirlwind romance and not a pregnancy," he said a bit absently as he thought this through. "A trip to England... that could just be manageable. Grandfather can hardly ask Uncle Philippe to attend and Mother would never go to an Anglican service, not under such circumstances. I'll just have to suggest that they might as well send me so there's a representative who's unimportant enough not to attract much attention. Nobody knows me, the last time the press snatched some pictures of me they mistook me for Philippos of Greece."

It had been an understandable mistake, given that he’d spent a few days with Philippos around that time, but you knew you weren’t of any importance on the royal circuit when even the international news agencies couldn’t be bothered to keep your name straight.

He glanced at Guillaume. "Fancy sharing a wedding with me? I doubt there'll be much opportunity for anything, but it's a chance to spend some time together. And after that..."

They'd just have to be patient a little longer.

***

Amedeo ran out of patience halfway through the wedding.

Pretending to be nothing more than friends was manageable - barely - even though he kept reaching out in unthinking moments and had to consciously catch himself before he made any gestures that might look too forward. That Guillaume was having the same problem wasn't helping in the least, and neither was his snugly fitted gala uniform that was proving to be highly distracting.

Though Amedeo had been instructed by his mother to stick close to Guillaume and follow his lead so his inexperience as an official royal representative wouldn't be too noticeable, they eventually ended up mingling separately to reduce the need to be constantly cautious. A few hours, Amedeo thought as he smalltalked his way around the reception. Just a few hours, then they'd be out of here and hopefully able to have an hour or two to themselves later that night, once the official dinner was over.

For a while he almost relaxed until Princess Theodora of Greece and Denmark, formidable as always, and just as scary, caught him completely off guard with a casual comment on Guillaume not being interested in women. Not that this was news, exactly, or that Amedeo had any illusions that he was the only one who'd ever caught on to that - Guillaume needed to be introduced to the concept of inconspicuousness, and badly - but to hear an off-hand remark on the issue was more than a little unexpected. At least she quickly moved on to other marriage options, and if he'd had suspected for just a moment that she was serious, he'd have had to do more than offer a gentle rejection when she'd tried to flirt.

Theodora sighed theatrically at the rebuff while Andrea Casiraghi, the third in their group of infrequent royal representatives, looked profoundly relieved that they weren't about to pair off. "I knew being a princess wouldn't be enough for you," she told him, fluttering her eyelashes.

"As if I could ever aspire to be a sufficient husband to such a formidable lady," Amedeo shot back.

She grinned at him. "Doomed from the beginning, the two of us," she said. "A pity. Andrea, don't you think we'd have made a lovely couple?"

Andrea still looked somewhat wary at the proposition. "I don't know whether lovely would be the right word. Terrifying, perhaps?"

"Oh, Amedeo is a darling. And at least he's not busy trying to chat up other princes, like Guillaume is doing right now."

Amedeo very carefully searched for the Hereditary Grand Duke in question and found him in conversation with Prince William, looking as though he had his full attention on him. A talk, Amedeo assumed, nothing more. Then he saw Guillaume reach for William's wrist, and instantly felt his hackles rise.

There'd better be a good explanation for this. A very, _very_ good explanation.

He kept up the conversation with Theodora and Andrea, but his heart wasn't in it with most of his concentration focused on Guillaume, twenty paces away and still speaking to William, a smile on his face. That in itself would have been distraction enough already, even if he hadn't looked as if he were flirting.

"... don't you think, Amedeo?"

"Oh, I don't know," he said distractedly while Guillaume reached for William's arm again to keep him from leaving, which would have been unremarkable - if casual gestures like that weren't completely unlike Guillaume.

Theodora gave him a startled look. "Really?" she asked, glancing at Andrea, who seemed about to burst out laughing.

Amedeo mentally replayed the conversation, but couldn't recall what she'd actually asked. "Why not?" One of those moments when having a reputation for coming from a family known for its eccentricities and occasional moments of weirdness had its benefits; if they were puzzled they could just ascribe it to a few hundred years of family habits and peculiarities.

She just shook her head. "Because it's _Carl Philip_ and I really don't think he and I would make a good match?"

"He is somewhat on the short side for you," Andrea agreed amiably, and Amedeo gladly let the two of them continue their banter while he returned his attention to whatever Guillaume was getting up to. As soon as he saw him head for the side table which held an assortment of drinks, he excused himself from his companions and went after him.

"Getting friendly with the locals, I see," he said, looking around to check whether they were being overheard.

Guillaume glanced at him a little warily. "I wouldn't call it friendly."

Amedeo raised an eyebrow and waited, putting enough scepticism into his expression to emphasise that this had better be good.

"I'm trying to keep William from outing himself."

Amedeo's eyebrows rose higher.

"He and Carl Philip are terrible at pretending. I can't believe they think they'll get away with it."

Amedeo thought he felt his eyebrows hit his hairline, and barely remembered to blink. "You're serious?"

"Of course I'm serious," Guillaume said. "Take a look at them, it's blindingly obvious. If people weren't so focused on Harry, they'd have a second scandal on their hands tomorrow. I've been trying to keep William occupied, but the man is harder to talk to than your mother."

"Hey," Amedeo protested mildly, mostly because he felt he was supposed to, and to some extent also because he did not like to think of his mother and Guillaume in the same context. If she ever found out what the two of them had been up to these past weeks, life would turn interesting, in the Chinese curse sense of the word. "So why are you getting involved in this? All out of the kindness of your heart? I didn't even think you knew them."

"My parents are close friends with the Swedes, they kept dragging me along on private visits," Guillaume said. "But that doesn't matter. Do you really want to imagine what's going to happen if anyone starts speculating about gay princes right now?"

"That would depend on the princes in question." Amedeo took two glasses of red wine and passed one to Guillaume, who accepted it with a quick nod of thanks. "So what's your plan? You'll keep on flirting with William so he can't do anything with Carl Philip?"

Guillaume shrugged. "I'm open for suggestions," he said.

"Good," Amedeo told him firmly, "because that would have been a rubbish plan. Don't do anything that gets you into the papers with William in Carl Philip's place, it won't help if they think he's having an affair with you instead. Just... talk to him, if you're that worried."

The expression on Guillaume's face was faintly amused. "Whatever you say, dear."

Grinning, Amedeo raised his glass in a toast, partly in relief that it seemed he didn't have to worry after all. "You get the idea, I see. Well, off you go, be heroic and save the poor damsel in distress before he goes and does something that gets everyone's knickers in a twist."

It was impossible not to satisfy his curiosity after that and see whether Guillaume had been right, so Amedeo retreated into a corner, flagged down one of his Dutch cousins as a pretence for conversation, and settled in to observe.

After twenty minutes, he had to admit that Guillaume probably had a point: there either was something going on between William and Carl Philip, or those two were having the most jealous reaction over each other that he'd ever seen in a platonic relationship. If the glares Carl Philip was sending towards Guillaume just for talking to William were any indication, things might turn interesting before the evening was out.

He'd really have to consider all the implications of this once he had a quiet moment. Two princes in what looked to be a relationship... if they kept this up, it would change quite a few things, and it might make a difference for him and Guillaume as well. If the high and mighty Prince William of Wales, beloved of tabloid papers and royal watchers all around the globe, did something like take up with a male partner, the world would be far too occupied with going into hysterics over them. Nobody would have time to bother with whatever a Belgian prince nobody had ever heard of, and a hereditary grand duke of a tiny country virtually unknown outside of Europe, might get up to together.

If they ever actually did get up to anything together, that was.

Distracting thoughts. Highly distracting thoughts, and Amedeo couldn't quite manage to get his mind back to the rational ramifications of this new situation. Right now he didn't want to think about other people's relationships, no matter whether they had any impact on his own.

The party eventually wound down once even the hard core of the guests realised that the bride was starting to look ready to keel over with exhaustion. Brave girl, Amedeo thought as he leaned down to kiss her cheek in polite farewell after shaking Harry's hand. Getting through her wedding probably had been the easiest part about all this.

"Mind sharing your car with me?" he asked, joining Guillaume at the door where he, together with a handful of other guests, was waiting for security to take them to their hotels. Anywhere else in Europe he wouldn't have bothered with any of this and just caught a cab, but in London you could never be sure what the press might get up to in their attempts to snatch a guest of a royal event.

Guillaume shot him a questioning glance. "Of course not, but we'd better check if they can make a detour."

"That won't be necessary." Amedeo grinned. "Same hotel as yours. Same floor, too. Actually, yours is the room next to mine. If you hadn't left already by the time I got there, I'd have said hello earlier."

It had been a minor matter to make a few phone calls and reshuffle the previous arrangements; fortunately, the staff at Laeken had been easily convinced to go along with his idea that it would be much more convenient to stay near someone he already knew, and had called the hotel for him. Amedeo suspected that by himself he wouldn't have gotten quite that far; people tended to be a bit suspicious on the rare occasions when he tried to convince them that he was a Belgian prince. For some reason, they didn't always believe it. The staff, on the other hand, was always open to anything that meant he was unlikely to get lost, scared, or kidnapped; in their eyes, letting him cling to Guillaume for the visit had to be an almost ideal solution.

Amedeo suspected that he could get away with quite a lot before anyone even began to wonder, let alone formed any concrete suspicions. Like brush his hand casually against Guillaume's where it rested on the car's back seat - then reach for it properly and tighten his fingers a bit before it could be withdrawn just because Guillaume had to feel irrationally paranoid.

They were going to have to work on that. Amedeo was already looking forward to it.

Holding hands backfired spectacularly when Guillaume turned the tables on him and started petting him. Just the barest of touches, the slow stroke of a thumb across his palm, not nearly enough for their driver to notice, let alone care, but it was more than enough to turn the car ride into a torturous exercise in self-control.

Guillaume, Amedeo thought as he focused on maintaining an unperturbed expression, had a well-hidden evil streak a mile wide.

They made it through the rest of the drive without incident and managed to be the very picture of well-mannered young royalty for their little walk through the hotel lobby (a brief moment of confusion aside when they'd both automatically slipped into gala escort mode at the sight of the red carpet and gilded chandeliers, and couldn't immediately settle on an escortee). The elevator ride up to their floor was equally uneventful.

"I forgot, would you mind lending me a tie for tomorrow?" Amedeo asked, mainly for the benefit of the elderly couple who'd exited the elevator with them on their floor.

Guillaume looked puzzled for a moment, then seemed to catch on. "Of course. Come on, let's see what I've got."

They stopped at Guillaume's door and Amedeo gave the little old lady a polite bow and a cheerful smile as she passed them, only to receive a laugh and a comment on well-bred young gentlemen in return, along with a salute from her companion in response to his gala uniform.

Then his elbow was grabbed, he was dragged inside, the door snapped shut behind him and before he'd even begun to regain his bearings he was pushed back against the wall, a picture frame clattering to his right where his shoulder bumped against it, Guillaume was kissing him, he was kissing Guillaume, and he couldn't have cared less.

He hadn't planned it quite like this, he thought in the back of his mind, his attention entirely on Guillaume's lips against his own and on coaxing him into a deeper kiss. Not that it took much effort; Guillaume might be overly cautious for Amedeo's taste in public, but he certainly wasn't holding back now.

Guillaume's hand slid up, along shoulder and neck into Amedeo's hair, firmly holding him in place; he hummed in wordless agreement, licking and teasing, their tongues playing. His arms around Guillaume, he drew him closer and was rewarded with a low moan against his mouth when his fingers found their way underneath the complicated layers of uniform, sash, shirt and all the other nuisances of formalwear.

"Careful!" Guillaume protested when Amedeo made short work of first his sash and then his uniform jacket, even though he helpfully wriggled out of the sleeves. "I need it to stay unwrinkled, I've got to wear it again in two days."

"As if you cannot afford to have it cleaned and ironed," Amedeo countered, shoving the garment off Guillaume's shoulders with no regard for the clatter the pinned-on Order of the Gold Lion made when it dropped to the floor.

"Amedeo..." Guillaume's attempted reprimand was cut short when Amedeo dove in for another kiss, and he didn't complain when his shirt was untucked but rather reciprocated in kind.

Eventually they ended up on the bed together, their meticulously tailored gala uniforms now strewn in a careless trail across the polished wooden floor, out of sight and out of mind.

Even if he'd been able to reclaim his resolve not to rush into anything, Amedeo wasn't sure he'd have wanted to, not with Guillaume so close, warm and firm and so very tempting, his thigh pushing hard between Amedeo's legs as they kissed and touched, all previous restraint gone.

"Please say that we aren't stopping now," Guillaume gasped against the hollow of his throat, his words drifting off in a low moan when Amedeo's hand fell low on his knee and dragged upwards across the bare skin in a firm caress, unmistakable intent behind the gesture.

Amedeo hadn't had any concrete plans as to how this was supposed to go beyond the faint idea that it all ought to _be_ planned and not something they tumbled into head over heels. But when Guillaume rolled them and he found himself half on his back, shivering with the beginnings of anticipation, he discovered that he couldn't have cared less.

Screw planning.

"Tell me you've brought lube and condoms," he demanded, pushing himself up to claim Guillaume's mouth in a quick, hard kiss. "I swear, if you make me get dressed again and fetch that stuff from my room..." He'd packed it on a whim, with no real expectations behind it, but with all the things he wanted to do to Guillaume - and get Guillaume to do to him, for that matter - he was beyond glad he'd done so.

Guillaume met his eyes, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, and Amedeo just had arch up to lick the spot. That prompted another round of kissing, deeply involved, until Guillaume drew back, too far for Amedeo to follow along despite his best attempts to maintain contact. "Seems we've been thinking alike," he said hoarsely, moving off Amedeo to lean down over the edge of the bed and fish for his bag.

"You know what they say about great minds..." Amedeo murmured, an appreciative eye on the view, and reached out to draw Guillaume close again as soon as he'd found what he was after.

They settled together again, loath to lose contact even for a moment as they worked out how to put it all together, laughing and gasping and moaning with pleasure as they looked for and found their rhythm, instincts and desire and simple _need_ driving them on.

Sex with Guillaume turned out to be highly enjoyable, highly satisfying and - at least this first time, not so surprisingly after what amounted to months of foreplay - over far too soon for Amedeo's taste, though he had high hopes of changing that as soon as a mere touch wasn't almost enough to push him over the edge.

His breaths still ragged and uneven, he raised his head to look his lover in the eye. "That was fun," he panted. "Let's do that again."

Guillaume managed to quirk an eyebrow, his own breathing as quick and shallow as Amedeo's. "Now?" he asked, his tone faintly doubtful.

Amedeo shot him a suggestive smirk and scooted closer until he was snugly pressed against Guillaume's side, one arm thrown across his belly to keep him in place. Perfect, simply perfect. "Whenever you're up to it. I'm not in a hurry to get away."

Guillaume studied him for a moment, then leaned in to kiss him again, and Amedeo gladly let himself get coaxed into a bit of tongue play. "No complaints, then?"

He sighed happily and stretched, his limbs still deliciously heavy and relaxed. "None whatsoever. And we've even managed to wait until after the wedding."

The comment earned him a snort and a nip to his shoulder. "I'm not sure other people's weddings count."

"Who cares? This is about us, we make the rules here."

They shared another kiss in lieu of an answer, and later that night, wrapped up in his lover's eyes as Guillaume moved inside him again, Amedeo felt himself fall, and fall hard. If he'd still had any doubts about this, they'd have been gone now.

***

Existence as an eminently unrecognised royal had its drawbacks, but there also were definite benefits to it. Like being able to simply hop on a train from Brussels to the city of Luxembourg and change into a taxi to Colmar for the rest of the way (while assuring the driver that yes, it was all right, you knew that Berg Castle was the private residence of the grand ducal family and not a museum, and that you wanted to go there nonetheless, and no, you weren't a stalker) without needing to bother with security, pre-approved schedules or any of the rigmarole that accompanied formal visits. This wasn't an Archduke and Prince of Belgium paying a visit to the Hereditary Grand Duke of Luxembourg, this was Amedeo dropping in on Guillaume for the weekend, with no problems or complications.

Aside from the fact that the Hereditary Grand Duke in question wasn't home, even though he should have been.

"I'm very sorry, Sir," the guard at the castle's main gate - who knew Amedeo from previous visits, which spared him the need to dig out his passport to identify himself - told him. "He hasn't returned yet from the city, and I haven't been informed when he is expected back. I'll inform the staff that you're here, but I am afraid you'll have to wait. Or would you like me to call you a car to take you to the Grand Ducal Palace?"

Amedeo was tempted for a moment, but shook his head. "No, if he's still working there's no point in interrupting him," he decided. "Give them a call up at the castle please, will you? I'll wait for him."

Ten minutes later one of the castle's staff members, an elderly lady he remembered from childhood visits, had put him into a little salon, arranged for coffee, asked whether there was anything else he needed, and pretty much left him to his own devices after a cryptic comment about not bringing frogs inside this time.

Sometimes the long-time staff members could be worse than even relatives, especially where their memory for mischief from twenty years ago was concerned.

"Amedeo! What a nice surprise!"

He turned around at the sound of his name, his perfunctory smile becoming genuine when he recognised the Grand Duchess. "Aunt María Teresa, I didn't think you'd be here! Guillaume said something about you and Uncle Henri being on the way to Sweden?"

It had been the reason why he was here today; Colmar should have been an area free of all relatives and people who might notice that he was spending a lot of time with Guillaume these days. A meeting with María Teresa certainly hadn't been planned, though Amedeo genuinely liked her. But she was Guillaume’s mother, who had no idea of the things he and her son were currently getting up to, and who probably still prayed for Guillaume to bring home a nice and dynastically perfect little princess one of these days.

She nodded, coming up to him to take his hand, and he obediently bent down so she could kiss his cheek in greeting. "In a few minutes. I was hoping Guillaume would be back before we have to leave, but he called earlier to say he'd be late. He should have told us you'd be here, then we'd have delayed a little." She shook her head. "As if he's hiding you from us."

Which, in essence, he was, but Amedeo didn't feel too guilty about that. He was doing the same where his own parents were concerned; they knew that Guillaume occasionally visited with him, but on the whole it felt more comfortable if they weren't reminded of it too often in case they began asking questions.

"Looks more like he is the one who's hiding," Amedeo said, taking his seat again on the small, overstuffed sofa once María Teresa had sat down as well. "Did anything come up?"

Guillaume's mother gave a long-suffering sigh. "I'm sure he thinks so," she said, a frown of disapproval wrinkling her forehead. "That boy, sometimes I swear he'd live in his office if he could. He's worse than his father sometimes. Amedeo, once you catch him today, make sure that he doesn't do any more work. He's barely come home to sleep this week, he must take some time off."

His fault to some extent, Amedeo knew; they both were busy enough with their duties - Guillaume in his position as heir and working royal, Amedeo in his consulting job - that the only way they could avoid wasting any of their rare time together was to shove all tasks to the days before and after their visits. So far they'd managed, but it was a struggle every time to fit it all into the hours available. Still, as far as Amedeo was concerned he'd rather spend a sleepless night over his reports than work on them while he could spend that same time with Guillaume. When they only saw each other a handful of times a month, if that, those days were simply too precious to waste.

"Your mother thinks that you work too much," he murmured a few hours later, tilting his head back in invitation so Guillaume could continue those delightful little nips and kisses along his throat.

"I had to move a few things around and that meant finishing a speech I've now got to give tomorrow rather than on Wednesday, that's all." A final nuzzle, then Guillaume drew back to find a more comfortable position on the sofa and turned down the volume of the movie they were - ostensibly - paying attention to.

Amedeo glanced at the screen, not bothering to figure out what they were pretending to watch. "You might as well turn it off," he suggested.

"And what if anyone comes to check on us?" Guillaume asked, but didn't complain when Amedeo scooted closer again, one arm braced against the back rest as he leaned in to snatch a quick kiss.

"Why would they? Your parents are in another country, all your siblings are as well, and I assume you don't usually have the staff barging in at this time of the evening."

Guillaume sighed. "You never know. I'm regent at the moment, after all, if anything happens..."

Amedeo drew back far enough to treat him to a frown. "The last time Luxembourg needed an active regent was in the sixteenth century. Somehow I don't think it's going to happen again anytime soon."

The look Guillaume gave him was faintly startled. "Do I want to know why you know that?"

Amedeo smirked. "Well, it _was_ Habsburg territory at the time. I'm supposed to know my family history."

Guillaume shook his head, the corner of his mouth twitching as he tried valiantly to suppress a laugh. "Your family tried to get rid of the country for two hundred years, it's not like they've ever been really fond of it."

"They didn't know what they were missing, obviously." He stole another kiss, and Guillaume's hand came up to cup his face and keep him in place. "I, on the other hand, happen to be very fond of it."

"Are you, now," Guillaume asked, drawing up one leg to turn fully towards him. Amedeo seized the opportunity to try and snuggle up to him, and a few seconds later they'd negotiated a comfortable arrangement that kept knees and elbows away from sensitive spots.

"Very fond," he confirmed. "Of the country in general, and a certain Hereditary Grand Duke in particular." He brought their lips together once again, the gesture coming more and more easily as Guillaume, too, finally managed to relax and simply enjoy the moment. "I love you, you know?"

Guillaume leaned back just far enough so they could look at each other, a deeply earnest expression in his eyes. "I love you too," he said, his voice quiet but with plenty of conviction in his tone.

They held each other's gaze until Amedeo couldn't keep from smiling anymore and simply had to claim a kiss, with enough determination behind it this time to leave them both breathless. This was how it should be, he decided as he brought up his right hand to rest against Guillaume's chest, just touching the bare skin at his collar where the top button of his shirt had come undone. Quiet time in his lover's presence, without interruptions or immediate concerns, Guillaume's pulse beating strong beneath his fingertips, his taste and his scent uniquely recognisable by now.

Yes, this was what he wanted. The knowledge that they both were treating their relationship with the same seriousness and care, and that it mattered to both of them.

***

When his brother came into view in the arrivals area, travel bag in one hand and paper cup of coffee in the other, Amedeo gave him a quick wave but kept most of his attention on his ongoing phone conversation, his irritation increasing by the second.

"No," he insisted. "We're not doing that. This is your mess, so you sort it out. I've been off the clock eighteen hours ago, and despite that I've spent the last twelve of them sorting through your chaos when I could have done other things. Like sleep. Forget it."

Joachim came to a halt at his side, his expression curious, and Amedeo gestured for him to stay silent while his colleague at the other end of the line patched together yet another preposterous idea. "Oh, of course. Splendid thought, why didn't I come up with that myself. Are you even listening to what you are suggesting? You cocked this up, why do you expect me to sacrifice the rest of my free time now so you can go and have fun?"

“Taxi?” Joachim mouthed, and together they headed in the direction of the main exit while yet another idiotic notion was being explained in Amedeo's ear. A few hours ago he'd begun to wonder whether he was the only person on his team who still had a brain and knew how to use it, and so far nothing he'd heard was proving the opposite.

"Okay, let me get this straight, you want me to fix your screw-up so you can go and spend the weekend with your girlfriend? What makes you so sure I don't have plans myself?" Even if Guillaume weren't planning on coming for a visit, the idea would have been unacceptable. Amedeo was more than willing to help out if it was necessary, but not under such circumstances and not with a colleague who was rapidly garnering a reputation as a free-rider. "No. Seriously. No. Go fix this, and don't call me again until you've done it. And don't call anyone else, either, Claire was ready to stab you with her fountain pen this morning and she's probably not the only one by now. Heck, if it comes to it I'll help her hide the body." He terminated the call and slipped the phone into the pocket of his jeans, then turned to his brother. "Hey," he said, slightly sheepish smile on his face. "Sorry about that."

Joachim was grinning broadly by now. "As long as you lose your temper at someone else but me, who cares? What was that about?"

"The village idiot screwed up our latest project, and we've all been scrambling to fix it while he just waved his hands helplessly," Amedeo said, struggling not to slip straight into another rant. "I've already spent two unplanned days schmoozing with the clients so they won't cancel, I've had enough." He shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose, then rubbed his hand across his face to get rid of some of the excess energy. "Anyway, sorry. How was the flight?"

"Long, mostly," Joachim said. He took a sip from his coffee, then frowned at it. "Is this supposed to taste like that?"

Amedeo smirked. "Guillaume said the same two weeks ago when he came to visit. Face it, you're in a country where you've got to drink a litre of the stuff to get the same amount of caffeine that's in a normal espresso."

"And yet you still stay here voluntarily." His brother shook his head, then carefully dumped the cup in the nearest bin.

"It protects me from being stuffed into a uniform and being paraded in front of the crowd whenever someone decides to show off a junior royal. Had fun last week, did you?"

Joachim scowled at him. "I was substituting for you, so you better be grateful."

"I'm letting you sleep on my sofa, that ought to be enough. Otherwise you'd have the embassy keeping track of your every move because they can't risk one of their precious princes getting lost. Trust me, you don't want them to put their noses into your private life, they report directly to Mama."

Which was an inconvenience when it was a matter of not letting her hear about parking tickets, and a risk to be taken seriously when it came to things like blood tests to see whether it was safe to ditch the condoms. Amedeo didn't even want to imagine what he'd face if she ever found out that he'd gotten himself checked, and that there even was a need for it, however theoretical it might be. As far as his mother was concerned, her children were not engaging in anything that would make such a thing necessary, never mind that three of them were grown up by now and that, from what Amedeo knew, he wasn't the only one in a relationship. Not that he'd ever dare to ask his oldest sister about it directly, but there were certain indicators.

"It's really not fair that you managed to abscond from royal duties," Joachim said that evening, vaguely waving his beer bottle to underscore his point. "You're the firstborn, you're the one they put through princely heir training and the full military academy course, you ought to be the one who does all that stuff."

Amedeo shrugged. "It's not like we're actually heirs to anything," he said, taking a draught of his own beer (one of the advantages of having Belgian visitors, they brought proper alcohol, not the boring local stuff, and Joachim was adept by now at smuggling appropriate amounts through customs). An evening sprawled on the sofa with beer and pizza had become something of a ritual whenever his brother visited, a welcome chance to catch up again now that they only tended to see each other in person a few times a year. "You just missed your opportunity; you should have gotten out while you could."

"As if that had been possible," Joachim grumbled and helped himself to another slice of pizza from the carton between them. "After you sneaked off to London and then New York, everyone kept a close eye on Laura and me so we couldn't escape as well. Luisa is starting to figure it out too by now, she'll complain to you one of these days."

"Is it really that bad?" Amedeo asked. He did feel guilty on occasion whenever he saw his siblings presented at official events which would have been his duty to attend if he'd still been in Belgium. But on the other hand, he'd spent enough time dreading the possibility that he might actually end up succeeding Uncle Philippe as king one day that he figured it had to be understandable that he stayed away as far from it all as possible now, lest anyone got ideas.

Joachim propped his feet up on the low couch table, careful to avoid the stacks of print-outs and notes Amedeo hadn't bothered yet to tidy away after he'd wrapped up his latest project. "Manageable," he said. "But you're the one who's got the education for it."

"That wasn't exactly voluntary, nobody asked me about it." Amedeo picked at his pizza to get rid of the olives, ordered as a concession to his guest. "It's not like I can actually use it for anything." Unless, of course, he ended up at Guillaume's side as a prince consort of some sort eventually, which was a possibility he needed to seriously consider one of these days. They hadn't talked yet about long-term plans; so far they were still busy juggling lives and work and a relationship across two continents. It was something they needed to do, though, and sooner rather than later.

"No job openings for thwarted royal heirs?" Joachim asked after another swig of beer.

Amedeo snorted. "Fewer than you might think. I'll just stick to the job I've got and do my best to avoid situations where Mama and Uncle Philippe shove me into a suit or, even worse, that uniform, and make me stand around looking regal for a few hours." He smirked at his brother. "You're far better at it than I am by now, so just keep on doing it. I'll continue having a private life, if you don't mind."

It earned him a scowl and lost him the last slice of pizza. "You'd better thank me for that," Joachim muttered. "If Laura and I didn't play along, you wouldn't _have_ a private life, they'd have dragged you back kicking and screaming years ago already."

Amedeo sighed. "I know," he said, briefly returning to seriousness. "I owe you for that."

Joachim looked at him, then waved off. "We'll call it quits if you never leave me hanging as far as inheriting Modena and the seat on the family council is concerned. I'm really not interested in running around as a Habsburg elder and a duke."

"You're an archduke," Amedeo reminded him.

"Bad enough, but at least that doesn’t come with any specific responsibilities. And it doesn't even help when it comes to picking up girls." Joachim shot him a speculative look. "Hasn't stopped you, though, has it?"

Amedeo blinked, not sure what to say.

"You're not usually so defensive of your time off unless you've actually got something better to do. And you're a lot more relaxed this time around. Getting laid, are you?"

Again he just blinked and took a sip of beer to mask his confusion at that sudden bit of insight.

Joachim nodded knowingly, far too astute for his comfort. "Thought so. Guy or girl this time?"

Amedeo inhaled sharply and spent the next few seconds fervently gasping for breath as a mouthful of beer went down the wrong way.

Helpfully thumping his back, Joachim took the bottle from him until he was no longer doubled over and struggling for air.

"How on Earth do you know about that?" he sputtered once he managed to get complete words out again.

Joachim just shrugged. "Well, girls was obvious after that time a few years ago when I walked in on you and, what's her name, Keyla? What happened to her, anyway? And as for guys..." he smirked. "Supreme observational skills. As well as a roommate at Malvern whose older brother went to LSE with you and had a few stories to share."

"That's... you didn't tell anyone, did you?" Though if Joachim had mentioned this to their parents, Amedeo was sure he'd have immediately have been commanded to return to Brussels and put through whatever was done to junior royals who veered outside the norm for dynastically acceptable relationships. Their house looked back on nine centuries of experience where appropriate and dutiful marriage was concerned, he was sure there were some tricks passed down through the ages to parents of recalcitrant children who didn't adhere to the rules of dynastic procreation.

"Do I look like an idiot? Of course not." Tilting his head back, Joachim emptied his beer and set the bottle aside. "So what's it this time?"

Amedeo hesitated, not certain how to best put it.

"Guy, then." His brother settled into his previous sprawl again and studied him speculatively. “You know, you're lucky."

He frowned at the non-sequitur.

"At least I'm not taking bets, like Alexandra does on Guillaume. She's absolutely convinced that he's gay."

For the second time in as many minutes, Amedeo fought for breath and prayed that his brother didn't put two and two together and arrived at four. Joachim didn't appear to care about his lack of perfect heterosexuality, but that didn't mean Amedeo wanted to find out right now what he thought about his brother striking up a relationship with their second cousin. One revelation of this magnitude was enough for today. And while Joachim liked their Luxembourgian relatives, especially since his time together with Sébastien at the École Royale Militaire, Amedeo wasn’t certain how he’d feel about more than friendly interactions.

"Not like it matters with him, of course," Joachim continued, unaware of the shocks he was giving his brother. "Purely theoretical speculation, of course, it's not as if he'd ever actually have time for a relationship."

Five, not four, and Amedeo permitted himself a minute sigh of relief before he focused on turning their talk back to more innocent topics.

***

There were some things Amedeo didn't want to have to deal with when he was in bed with his lover and in the middle of very enjoyable sex. Most of them he could ignore. Knocks at the door to his apartment? No point in bothering, especially when Guillaume was just nibbling along the inside of his inner thigh in _exactly_ the right way to make him squirm with pleasure. Loud ringing of the doorbell? Easily taken care of; he just focused instead on Guillaume's hands, firm on his hips, and on the cool slide of silk around his wrists (Guillaume's tie, brought to an alternative use to keep Amedeo from crossing his plans for slow and thorough exploration. Amedeo had decided a while ago already that he'd have to be contrary more often in the future if the results were this much fun.)

An elderly voice threatening to call the cops?

That was a bit harder to ignore. If there was one thing Amedeo had no interest in dealing with right now, it was the police rushing in on the present situation. He'd gotten into enough trouble over his first - and, so far, last - parking ticket when news of that had reached his mother through the embassy. He didn't fancy discovering what she'd do if she heard her son had gotten into trouble over causing a disturbance together with his male lover. She might just decide to turn him over to monastery to have him ordained for life, and God alone knew what she would do to Guillaume.

"We... we'll need to deal with that," he gasped, stilling in his movements.

"Just wait, she'll go away," Guillaume grumbled, silencing Amedeo's protest with a well-aimed flick of his tongue that left him aching for more. Tempting, so tempting to just ignore the interruptions...

The next call was even louder and accompanied by energetic knocking.

Heaving a deep sigh, Guillaume let his head drop against Amedeo's belly and muttered a quiet curse before he moved off him and reached up to undo the knots and release him.

Amedeo hastily scrambled for his dressing gown and went for the door. A look into the mirror by the coat rack told him he wasn't going to fool anyone about what he'd just been up to; his face was flushed, his hair tousled, and a love bite was blooming at the spot where throat met shoulder. He still tugged up the collar of his robe as much as possible and made sure the belt was securely knotted to avoid any unwanted insights.

A moment to try and get his breathing to calm down, then he opened the door, a polite smile on his face.

"Mrs Goldstein? Good evening..."

The tiny old lady from the apartment underneath his own frowned up at him. "Young man, are you aware of the racket you are making? I might think someone's being murdered up here!"

"Ah..." Amedeo raised his hand in a placating gesture, then swiftly let it drop again and hid it behind his back when he noticed that he still had Guillaume's silk tie fastened around his wrist, forgotten in the rush. "I must apologise, Madam."

"Oh, yes, that's right you do. Do you have any idea what time it is? Some people are trying to sleep!"

"Mrs Goldstein, I am so sorry," he said with a little bow, drawing on his best princely behaviour that always left an impression on people. "You are absolutely right, of course, we've been completely reprehensible in our behaviour. All I can say in our defence is that we did not do it on purpose, and if we had been aware that we were keeping you awake, we'd have been far more careful. I promise you that there won't be any further disturbances."

She looked him up and down, clearly sceptical, then suddenly broke into a wide smile which made him draw his robe more tightly around himself. "Well, dear boy, it's not like I can't remember what it's like to be young and in love. Just keep it down a little from now on?"

"Of course, Madam. I truly must apologise," he repeated, cautiously optimistic that this little issue was solved.

Mrs Goldstein made a sort of clucking noise, then rose up on the tip of her toes to pat his cheek in a grandmotherly fashion. "Such a polite young man you are," she told him. "Don't worry, I think we understand each other."

Amedeo waited until she was safely back downstairs - if he'd been more dressed, he'd have escorted her back to her apartment to collect a few more points in their favour - then breathed a deep sigh of relief when he heard her door fall shut. He quietly closed his own and leaned against it for a second before he turned around and padded back into his bedroom to see whether they couldn't salvage the evening despite the interruption.

"Is everything all right?" Guillaume asked, watching appreciatively as Amedeo dropped his robe and joined him again.

"Mm, yes..." Amedeo smirked and brought his hand up to cover his lover's mouth, the tie still wrapped around his wrist. "We just have to be quiet... but I'm sure we can think of a few ways for that," he whispered before replacing his hand with his lips.

They didn't quite manage to be silent. Impossible, really, to Amedeo's mind - he far preferred to know that his lover was enjoying himself, and while he _could_ rely on non-vocal clues for that, there was something to coaxing soft sighs and pleased moans from Guillaume that he simply didn't want to miss. Just like his quiet breaths afterwards, fast and shallow at first before gradually turning slow and deep as they both calmed.

A few hours later, after a shower and a nap, Amedeo dozed with his head pillowed on Guillaume's shoulder, occasionally glancing up to see whether his lover was still asleep. Jet lag was one of the drawbacks of an intercontinental relationship; no matter whether they met in Europe or in New York, one of them would always end up exhausted for the first day. And with their schedules not nearly as flexible as they could have wished, it often left them only the weekends to spend time together and catch up on urgently needed rest at the same time.

Guillaume looked to be fast asleep, and Amedeo was careful to keep his touches slow so they wouldn't disturb him. They still had a full day tomorrow before Guillaume had to fly back the morning after that, they'd just make the most of it. And after that, they'd have to see. Amedeo had dropped a few hints to the head of his department that a temporary deployment to one of the European branch offices would be welcome; normally he tried to do his best to be treated like a regular employee, but under these circumstances he wasn't above using his position as an Imperial and Royal Highness to add some clout to his request. It would make things a lot easier for him and Guillaume if their time together didn't begin and end with ten-hour flights for one of them.

On the other hand, New York had the distinct advantage of being out of sight of the Belgian court and, more importantly, family. King Albert probably didn't care what his oldest grandson got up to as long as no-one bothered him about it, and Amedeo knew that his uncle didn't bat an eyelash ever since he'd run into him a few years ago with his boyfriend at the time. But his mother, that was another story altogether. She'd been scandalised enough at hearing about Amedeo having a girlfriend - and after that first time almost ten years ago, he'd been cautious to keep all future relationships secret from her - and he didn't dare imagine what she'd do if she found out that her precious firstborn was sleeping with another man. Amedeo had the sneaking suspicion that his mother firmly pictured him in a marriage with a suitable princess, fathering a herd of nice Catholic children on the girl who'd be proper archdukes and archduchesses and continue the line.

Well, Guillaume was Catholic, and he was heir to a throne and therefore dynastically more than acceptable, but somehow Amedeo didn't think those were going to be major selling points in her eyes. From what he'd heard from his sister, there had been a lot of irritated comments on inappropriateness and lack of morals at the news of William and Carl Philip, and they were only distant relatives.

He'd eventually have to figure out what to do about that, he thought, drawing lazy patterns on Guillaume's chest with his fingertips. If they stayed together - and right now Amedeo had no reason to think that they wouldn't - they couldn't hide it forever. Nor did he want to.

Still, for now there was time before they'd have to make up their minds about how to continue their relationship and how secret to keep it.

"You're thinking too loudly," Guillaume murmured, bringing up a hand to run through Amedeo's hair, and he leaned into the caress. "Something important?"

He was tempted to share, but decided against it. They had too little time together to spoil it with such worries. "I just thought that we should do this more often," he said.

"This? You mean get interrupted by your neighbour?"

Amedeo looked up to him and winked. "No, but if that's what gets you excited..." He ducked the light swat Guillaume aimed at him. "Having you here is nice. I like the way you look in my bed."

"I like your bed, period," Guillaume said, rolling onto his side so they could talk more comfortably. "Perfect for sleeping."

"And other things, I should hope." Amedeo leaned in for a kiss, but kept it light for now though the temptation was there to try for another round. "Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you."

Guillaume shook his head. "Never mind, just teach me your trick about sleeping on planes. I've never managed that one."

"Stay away from coffee, for one thing," Amedeo said sagely, then had to duck again to escape the irritated reaction at questioning Guillaume's coffee addiction. "You drink far too much of that stuff, simply kissing you keeps me awake afterwards from the caffeine residue on your lips."

"The coffee, is it?" In a swift move, Guillaume had Amedeo pinned underneath, drawing a pleased sigh from him at the shift in position and at the knee suggestively pushing in between his legs. "Not something else, perhaps?"

Amedeo grinned up at him, then raised his head to teasingly nip his lover's jaw line. "What else would have that effect? Care to demonstrate?"

Sleep, when it finally came, caught both of them until morning.

***

Sports events were always a favoured opportunity for royal appearances. They were relatively low-key in protocol, there was the chance to wear normal clothes rather than dress up to the nines, and it tended to make for an entertaining few hours unless you got stuck with a sport you absolutely couldn't stand. Amedeo had been made to sit through eleven hours straight of table tennis once, under strict orders to look interested and encouraging at all times, and to this day the sound of ping pong balls gave him a headache.

Football, on the other hand, usually didn't take more than two hours, made for good entertainment and, perhaps most importantly, was a perfect way to show support for one's nation, so the attending royals tended to be high-ranking. If you were further down the line, chances of being an official spectator at an interesting match were fairly low. Unless, of course, your grandfather caught a cold, your uncle was stuck in Mexico on a state visit, and your mother couldn't muster much enthusiasm for twenty-two sweaty men chasing after a ball. Amedeo, conveniently on a visit to Brussels at the time and the only other male royal available, got his marching orders and off he went to Warsaw that same day to uphold the Belgian flag at the European Championship until someone more important could be flown in.

It seemed he wasn't the only last-minute replacement, either; he'd been supposed to sit with Prince William to watch their teams play each other, but found himself next to Harry and his wife instead.

"What a lovely coincidence, Your Royal Highness," he said with a smile, bowing over her hand to almost-kiss it in the proper form of greeting. Always fun, especially if you ran into a woman who still looked pleasantly surprised at the gesture.

"Ah... Prince Amedeo, right?"

He nodded. "We've met at your wedding," he supplied helpfully, figuring that she'd probably had other things on her mind that day than remember names and faces to two hundred more or less noble guests. Considering the circumstances, it was impressive she hadn't tried to run yet. "Hey Harry, nice seeing you."

Harry gave him a cheerful wave. "Great, I get another man to talk to. Alex isn't all that interested in footie."

The little duchess looked slightly scandalised at the admission on her behalf, and Amedeo shot her a reassuring smile. If he remembered the dates right, this had to be one of her first public events since the British court had hidden her away for her pregnancy; small wonder that she seemed a little nervous.

"We'll do our best not to bore you, Ma'am," he assured her as they sat down with her in the middle.

"Just call me Alex, please, anything else is just awkward." She hesitated. "If that's all right with you?"

"Of course, if that's what you prefer," he said with a polite nod, followed up by a more genuine smile when he saw her begin to relax when he didn't turn out to be as eccentric as she'd probably heard. "I don't think there's anyone who actually likes being called by their official title."

"You've never met Mary, in that case," Harry said. "The Danish one, that is. Carl and I got our ears blistered last month when we didn't address her as Crown Princess at a function in Copenhagen when she," he made quotation marks in the air, "clearly outranks us and therefore can expect the respect due to her station. Prissy little... "

“Harry!" Alex hissed.

"... Crown Princess," Harry finished, grinning. "Don't worry, dear, Amedeo's got too many weird relatives himself to be bothered."

Amedeo threw him a bemused glance, but didn't say anything. When you counted people colourfully called Joanna the Mad, Francis the Evil or Rudolf the Crazed among your ancestors, it was smarter not to argue the point. Most of his relatives on the Habsburg side were fairly normal these days, but the family history was almost impossible to ignore at times. On the other hand, if anyone went too far with their teasing he could always cheerfully point out the fact that practically everyone of royal blood these days had a Habsburg or two lurking in their not-too distant ancestry. It tended to shut people up rather quickly.

They chatted a little before the kick-off, then spent a minute looking properly royal and interested for the press photographers before the security guards chased the media off again so they'd be left in peace for the game.

“I thought we'd get your uncle instead of you," Harry said, his eyes on the pitch as the English team started its first attack. "What's happened there?"

"Stuck on Yucatan until tomorrow, he couldn't get a flight in time," Amedeo explained. "On that note, where's William? They told me he'd be here."

Harry shrugged. "Officially he's got a few urgent things to do that kept him in London for today."

"And unofficially? Hiding out in Stockholm?" It was an open secret that whenever William vanished these days, Sweden was a good place to look for him. Almost a year after going public with their relationship, even the gutter press was starting to grow bored with the sensationalist articles on love holidays in the Scandinavian wilderness. They made a note of where he'd disappeared to, printed a photo or two on occasion, and that was it. Amedeo found the quick lessening of interest highly encouraging.

Harry leaned forward to reply, but before he could say anything they were interrupted by the crowd going wild over a foiled shot at the Belgian goal. Once the noise went down a little again, Harry tried again. "No, Carl was supposed to come with him so they'd have an official appointment together. But they changed their minds when they found out that Guillaume's going to be here tonight."

Amedeo frowned. "Guillaume? That's news to me." He _was_ expecting his lover to join him in Warsaw for a few days, but only by the weekend. As far as he knew, Guillaume was stuck in Rome right now with his brother Félix, performing some grand-ducal tasks for a minor exhibition there.

"Don't ask me why, it's not like Luxembourg even has enough inhabitants for a football team," Harry remarked. "And he hasn't shown up so far, so I guess that was a wrong bit of intel. Anyway, that was enough to keep Wills and Carl away, so Alex and I got to fill in for tonight."

"I'm not sure I know what you mean," Amedeo said, puzzled, but before he could have some clarification Harry got caught up in the thwarting of a Belgian counter-attack and didn't look like he'd be immediately coherent.

Alex turned towards him. "Carl is a bit... twitchy about Guillaume," she explained quietly.

Amedeo did his best to put up a faintly interested expression and reminded himself that nobody on this continent knew about him and Guillaume being anything more than acquaintances in the royal circle. As far as Harry and Alex were concerned, this was just the usual sort of gossip. "Twitchy?"

"Well, he seemed to think Guillaume was flirting with William at our wedding," Alex said, clearly still testing the waters to see how open she ought to be with him. "But I really don't know whether there's anything to it. You'd have to ask them."

Ah, damn. He should have known that Guillaume's improvised attempt at being helpfully chivalrous was going to come back to bite them in the arse. That relationship had still been secret at the time; small wonder that Carl had gotten nervous. And Guillaume hadn't exactly been subtle either, even if it had all been unintentional. It hadn’t stopped Carl from glowering, and thinking back to it, Amedeo wondered just how close they’d come to an international royal incident that evening.

"I'll see if William can fill me in once he gets here," Amedeo said. Or rather, he'd ask Guillaume whether he was aware that he'd apparently managed to alienate those two enough that they'd taken to avoiding him. They'd have to patch that breach as soon as they got an opportunity; Carl and William would be far too important as future allies to let that slide.

The immediate danger of goals averted, Harry returned part of his attention to his companions again. "Do you know if anyone else's here? We ran into Haakon at the airport, but other than that I haven't seen anybody."

Amedeo shook his head. "Not today, no. Count on Willem-Alexander to attend the Dutch games, though, there's no way he'll miss them, he never does."

Harry clapped his hands, clearly delighted. "Great, someone to spend time with. They're not letting me go out into town, and at least with other royals I can have a beer or two without anyone giving me weird looks and sending champagne bottles."

"Harry..."

"Dear, I'll stay at the hotel, or at someone else's hotel at worst. Nothing can possibly go wrong."

Alex looked doubtful at that. Amedeo, who'd been taken along by Uncle Philippe and Cousin Willem-Alexander for his first informal grown-up celebrations during the Belgian-Dutch hosting of the football championship, and who still wasn't quite sure whether a few things he remembered from those nights were real or drunken hallucinations, couldn't help feeling sympathetic. This _was_ Harry, after all.

"It should be safe," he offered in reassurance. "They'll all have security."

"You don't," she pointed out, very reasonably.

"I'm also not going out partying tonight." He had a phone call scheduled with Guillaume for later, and wasn't that terrifyingly settled and domestic already. But he also wasn't going to miss that, not when calls had been the best they'd been able to do for almost a month because their schedules had bogged them both down.

Sometimes, long-distance relationships sucked.

At least the summer looked promising; Amedeo would be in Europe for two full weeks for a holiday, and after that Guillaume was going to come and visit him for the same length of time. Four glorious weeks; not quite uninterrupted, probably, since they'd have to fit family and friends in as well and Guillaume had a conference and a few trade talks scheduled in New York to justify his extended stay, but a lot more than they'd had since winter. And until then they'd just make do with the weekends. Flights were booked, schedules were cleared... for now, and until they decided to let at least their families in on their secret, it was the best they could do.

***

"There's something I've been wondering about," Amedeo said a few days later, his hand absently tracing the lines of Guillaume's shoulder as they rested together amidst tangled sheets and pillows after they'd shared a proper greeting now that his lover had arrived in Warsaw as well. "Why does Carl Philip flee the country when he knows you're coming?"

"He does?" Guillaume asked, his tone neutral, but Amedeo felt the muscles under his fingertips tense.

"Harry said so when I met him earlier this week."

Guillaume frowned at him. "And since when do you pay attention to what Harry says?"

"Well, in part because Carl Philip - and William, for that matter - weren't there," Amedeo explained, a little puzzled by the reaction, stronger than he'd have expected it.

His lover moved away and out of reach, then sat up, the movement gathering the sheet around him. "And that has to do with me, how?"

Now it was Amedeo's turn to frown as he tugged the sheet back to cover himself against the cool breeze coming from the open balcony door. "I don't know," he said carefully, returning his hand to its previous spot on Guillaume's shoulder to maintain a physical connection between them. He didn't know where this was going, but the ground had suddenly turned a lot more slippery than he'd expected. "That's why I'm asking."

They looked at each other, and to Amedeo's relief Guillaume didn't avoid his eyes. They hadn't had any serious fights yet, and he wasn't keen on this somehow turning into their first one. For a moment he'd feared it would.

Guillaume held still a little longer, then shrugged. "It was nothing, really," he said. "A misunderstanding a while back."

Amedeo looked at him, eyebrows raised. "Must have been quite some misunderstanding if it makes him run for the border."

The expression on his lover's face darkened, but he managed to shake it off almost immediately. "It's been ten years, and a small matter. I don't know what makes him overreact like that."

For Guillaume's sake, Amedeo hoped he was better at downplaying unpleasant matters in official situations and didn't go about it quite in such a clumsy fashion. But he wasn't lying - surely he'd be at least a little more effective than _this_ \- so that had to count for something.

"A small matter?" he prompted as he sat up as well and reached for a pillow to shove between his back and the unpleasantly cool headboard.

Reluctance was plain in Guillaume's eyes. "I may have attempted to initiate something between us. Ten years ago," he added, with plenty of emphasis.

"Attempted? And that's enough to keep him running in the opposite direction when he sees you coming?" Amedeo wasn't entirely sure he believed his ears. "What did you do to him, Guillaume? Throw him down without warning and give him a blow job?"

"Of course not!" Guillaume exclaimed. "I just tried to see whether there wasn't a chance of... something."

"In a way that makes the poor guy twitchy as hell about you a decade later?" Despite himself, Amedeo had to smile. "It's a good thing you've gotten better at communicating your intentions, it really is. Why didn't you ever clear that up? He's obviously not over it."

Carl Philip and Guillaume. Unexpected didn't even begin to cover it, though the idea was disturbingly easy to imagine. If that had worked out... Amedeo inwardly shook his head. It hadn't, Carl was William's and Guillaume was _his_ , so thinking about it didn't make for any more than idle speculation.

Guillaume watched him cautiously, then relaxed minutely. "I didn't really have the opportunity to make my intentions clear," he said.

"Small wonder if he keeps climbing trees whenever he spots you." It was hard to fault Carl Philip for that; dealing with Guillaume was a lot easier with twenty years' worth of familiarity to draw upon, especially when he had one of his obtuse moments. "Do us all a favour, love, and talk to him when you can? He _is_ one half of the first officially gay royal couple, after all."

And as that, he'd be a valuable ally once things turned serious and public for Amedeo and Guillaume, that was absolutely obvious. Right now they still were comfortably private, but if something happened and that changed, it would be more than helpful to have some backing from William and Carl Philip. At the very least, it would keep them from having to field the entire press attention by themselves. A few succinct statements from Clarence House could work wonders in that regard.

Guillaume gave a long-suffering sigh. "I'll try," he said, without much enthusiasm.

"Just tell him that it was a misunderstanding and that you're sorry, that will surely be enough," Amedeo advised. "Apologies always do the trick."

"It was hardly my fault that he exaggerates like that. By now he really should be over it."

"Guillaume?" Amedeo said firmly, reaching out to cup his chin and make their eyes meet, "Apologise. Under other circumstances I'd say kiss and make up, but I suspect that might have the opposite effect. So just tell him you didn't mean it like that and that you are sorry it turned into a misunderstanding."

Perhaps there'd be an opportunity over the coming days, now that William and Carl Philip were in the country to support their own teams for the football championship. Casual surroundings, plenty of distractions in case the meeting turned awkward... it might just be the ideal solution for this little problem, even if it meant sacrificing some of his time with Guillaume.

With help from Harry - mostly with finding out which matches William and Carl Philip would be attending - Amedeo put his plan into motion on the following day and carefully engineered an accidental meeting. It was a simple matter of arriving a little early, then lingering at the steps leading up to the seating reserved for the VIP guests under the pretence of not wanting to sit down so soon. A few minutes of casual small talk, then Amedeo spotted his targets.

"Remember what I said about apologising?" he asked, watching as Carl Philip ducked past the cameras at the bottom of the stairs and came up towards them, William having to skip a few steps to keep up with him. Guillaume grumbled something that Amedeo chose to interpret as assent and straightened, a perfunctory smile plastered on his face.

It was easy to spot the exact moment Carl Philip discovered them: he froze in mid-step, then hastily turned to glance back at William and waited for him to catch up before going on. A need for support? Amedeo was beginning to grow thoroughly curious just what Guillaume had done to cause that. It seemed so unlikely that his lover could have managed to offend Carl Philip so thoroughly when he was always polite by default.

A little push got Guillaume to move forward when the pair reached the top of the stairs. "Hello William," he said stiffly. "Carl Philip..."

Amedeo had to work hard to suppress a sigh. "Hey, you two," he called out in greeting, moving in for the rescue when it was obvious that Guillaume wasn't going to say anything more and that Carl Philip was rooted to the spot and not twitching a muscle. "Fancy seeing you here, I didn't think you'd come for this match. Which team are you rooting for, the Dutch? Surely not the French, right?"

William laughed out loud. "Not since Agincourt," he said, glancing at Carl Philip almost as if he were expecting him to bolt. "I've been promised we'd see an Oranje victory tonight."

"Good, we're on the same side then and I won't have to pretend I don't know you." Amedeo attempted to casually brush against Guillaume to nudge him into action, but it didn't seem to have any immediate effect.

"I'll even let you sit next to me, now that your team eliminated those pesky Spaniards and saved us the effort. Who'd have thought Belgians can play footie?"

This wasn't quite going to plan. Chatting with William might be fun, but it was not the intended activity for the evening.

"Remember that we kicked your collective arses in the friendly two months ago, so don't go insulting us," he shot back with a smirk, and very casually stepped on Guillaume's foot. Hard. "I await your apology, my Lord."

That got him a barely suppressed yelp, along with the desired reaction.

"You're just lucky neither of you is playing Luxembourg," Guillaume managed. "Ah, Carl Philip... could I speak with you alone for a moment?"

Amedeo fought the urge to bury his face in his hands in frustration. He knew Guillaume was capable of subtlety and diplomacy, he'd seen him do it on numerous occasions. But what his lover handled effortlessly in official situations seemed a completely alien concept when things turned casual.

It was painfully obvious that the last thing Carl Philip was willing to do was to have a private talk with Guillaume. His posture, tense from the start, turned completely rigid and his expression became that perfectly frozen blank you only mastered after decades of sitting through official functions without being allowed to show your emotions.

"We should probably go and get our seats," William said, exchanging a glance with Amedeo that looked suspiciously as though he had some idea at least of what this was about. "Carl? Come on, let's go. Amedeo, we'll see you during the half-time break?"

Amedeo took that for what it was, the request not to sit near them for the game after all. "Sure. Have fun, you two."

He watched as William got Carl Philip to un-freeze with a hand against the small of his back to prompt him into moving.

"That didn't go quite as well as I'd hoped," he said once they were out of earshot. This needed fixing, and soon; if Carl Philip was practically afraid to breathe around Guillaume, he was hardly going to be helpful once there was a need for public support. And aside from that, and perhaps even more importantly, it was the sort of tension that was bound to make future encounters - which were guaranteed if and when Guillaume and Amedeo made their relationship official - an incredibly awkward affair.

Guillaume, visibly relieved too now that William and Carl Philip were gone, just shrugged. "I told you, he is overreacting."

***

The first clue Amedeo had that something might be off was when Guillaume practically walked straight past him in the arrivals area at Newark without noticing.

The second clue came after he'd caught up with his lover, stopped him and, after a quick kiss in greeting, got a good look at him. Pale skin, tired eyes darkly shadowed and blinking in the bright airport light... Amedeo fought a sudden temptation to suggest brains for lunch.

“You really need to figure out how to sleep on planes," he said, taking Guillaume's bag, without protest for once, and gently pushed him to make him move towards the exit. "You're flying business class, it's not like it's that hard."

"It's the engine noise. Or the smell. Or... something, I don't know." Guillaume shrugged, the slowness of the gesture testament to his exhaustion. "Well, I've survived it."

Amedeo gave him an appraising look. "Barely," he conceded and bent down for a kiss in greeting, only to frown when he caught the faint taste of cigarettes.

Whatever kept Guillaume awake during flights certainly didn't apply to car rides; he was asleep almost before their taxi pulled away from the curb, and stayed so even through the noise and honking horns of rush hour. Amedeo gladly let him have that half hour of rest - little good that it probably did, though - and once they arrived at his apartment building, did his best to quickly herd his lover into the elevator, up to his floor, and through the door.

"Shower," Guillaume said, running a tired hand across his face. "If you don't mind. Everything just feels..."

"Come on, then, let's get you cleaned up." Amedeo accompanied him, purely out of altruistic motives, of course, and not in order to have a chance to watch and store away some nice visuals for the coming lonely weeks.

For a moment, when Guillaume shed his clothes - carelessly dropping them this time rather than properly folding them like he usually did, a small detail that spoke volumes - Amedeo was tempted to offer some hands-on assistance. But while that usually made for a lot of fun, he had the sneaking suspicion that right now he'd come a distant second to the attractions held by soap. So he just picked up after his lover, dropped the clothes on top of his laundry basket and made the pack of cigarettes disappear from the pocket of Guillaume’s suit jacket.

"Just when did you sleep last?" he asked, leaning against the wall, towel in hand as he kept a careful eye on Guillaume in the shower, just in case, and only appreciated the sight a little bit.

"Madrid, I think," Guillaume mumbled, then ducked under the spray to wash his hair.

Amedeo frowned. "That's where," he said once Guillaume surfaced again, "not when."

"I've just flown from Dubai to Madrid to Dublin to Paris to New York because of that damned volcano. You figure out the time on that, I really have no idea. Right now I'm glad I know which city I'm in, I had a few moments in the past days when I wasn't so sure about that." He paused to blink the water out of his eyes. "Oh, I forgot to tell you, they've already postponed my flight back for at least a day."

If Amedeo had still had any doubts whether Guillaume was too tired to think straight right now, that would have cinched it. An extra day, four instead of three, that was the sort of news that usually demanded an almost immediate sharing, especially when it was due to force majeure and Guillaume couldn't embark on a guilt trip for missing work. For it to slip his lover's mind... Amedeo magnanimously decided to attribute it to his exhaustion and not a lack of interest.

"Whatever _shall_ we do with the extra time?" he asked and held out the towel once Guillaume turned off the water.

The familiar little smile on his lover's face was more than just tempting and made him decide he'd been good for long enough. No point in overdoing it, not when they never had nearly enough time. A light brush of their mouths together, barely enough to tease and gauge the mood before he moved in, not caring about the water soaking into his shirt as he drew Guillaume close and deepened the kiss between them. The towel dropped to the floor, unnoticed.

Guillaume smelled subtly different than usual, an enticing blend of his own toiletries and Amedeo's, and together with his rare willingness to let Amedeo take the lead without even a token bit of resistance it made for a heady combination. Together they settled into the kiss, Guillaume's arms wound around Amedeo's neck to draw him down in a gesture long familiar, and just shared the moment.

It was Amedeo who eventually drew back, a regretful smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he took in the tired look in his lover's eyes and the way Guillaume was leaning on him just a little too much.

"Bed?" he suggested quietly, and received a soft sigh in response. He dropped a chaste kiss against Guillaume's cheek, then nudged him into motion.

Once in his bedroom, he swiftly got Guillaume settled between the sheets - naked still, because who wanted to bother with digging pyjamas out of suitcases or drawers when they'd just end up on the floor soon anyway - before stripping off his own clothes, uncomfortably wet by now. Snuggling up to your freshly showered lover worked a lot better if you weren't in a shirt and jeans at the time, Amedeo decided. Lesson learned, though Guillaume made for an enticing enough distraction that he couldn't be certain he'd remember it next time. It might be doomed to fail, just like their decision - stated frequently and with great determination - that shower sex really wasn't as great as it was made out to be still didn't keep them from giving it a try now and again when the temptation proved irresistible.

Bunching up one of the pillows under his head, Guillaume rolled onto his back once Amedeo had lain down beside him, close enough to comfortably nap together. "Wake me in an hour or so," he murmured, his eyes already closing. "I don't want to miss too much time."

"Sure," Amedeo cheerfully lied to him, gently threading one hand into his dark hair. "I'll do that."

He had no illusions whatsoever that Guillaume was going to join the living again before morning, not when the sun was already setting outside. A week full of meetings all over two continents, coupled with a flight across the Atlantic and not a moment to take a breather was bound to take its toll, and he didn't begrudge Guillaume the chance to rest. He just wished it wouldn't cut into their time together so much. An additional day due to a flight delay was a precious gift already.

They'd had four glorious weeks earlier this summer, a priceless chance to share more than a few snatched days here and there. Amedeo had never before appreciated a holiday quite as much as this one, when he could wake up next to Guillaume for the sixth day in a row for a bout of lazy morning sex before doing nothing in particular save spend time with each other. It was this easy companionship that was so hard to get during their usual meetings; what weekends they could manage tended to fill up far too quickly with more physical needs and temptations, leaving the calmer moments to fall by the wayside. And while they talked almost daily on the phone during the times of separation, there was a vast difference between doing so when one of them was in New York and the other in Luxembourg, and a conversation held while comfortably curled up on the couch together.

By now they'd had a year of maintaining a long-distance relationship, and they'd managed to make it work. Surprisingly well, even; Amedeo had feared at first that they wouldn't be able to do it, that it would prove itself to be too much of a strain to constantly juggle schedules and flights. But that it worked didn't mean that he wanted to continue like that. He would, if he had to - he loved Guillaume too much not to be willing to compromise if necessary - but it wasn't an easy situation in any way.

He rubbed a damp strand of Guillaume's hair between his fingertips, then carefully combed out a little snarl. What options did they have, really? Right now they both had their own worlds they moved in, and as long as those didn't collide, they had little to worry about. The media outside Luxembourg barely cared about Guillaume, certainly not enough to send a photographer after him in New York. And as far as Amedeo's friends and colleagues here were concerned, the fact that he had a male lover wasn't exactly newsworthy either, and nobody bothered to take a closer look.

They had anonymity as long as they kept this up, and that was the crux of the matter. If they did anything that let them have more time together, it was bound to draw attention to them, of the sort that might be hard to handle. Amedeo had kept a close eye on the developments surrounding William and Carl Philip - a fairly encouraging example, especially since the positive reactions had outweighed the negative, and the media storm around them had died down once the next attraction came around. There were days when he wondered whether the tabloids had given up on the two of them once there were no obvious signs of them starting to re-enact _La Cage aux Folles_.

Royal couples, he'd eventually concluded, were mostly interesting for the female half's gala robes, tiaras, hairstyles and light bulges to her belly that could cause endless speculation. Compared to that, gay couples were fundamentally boring once the initial excitement was over.

Was that an option for them, to go official? He studied Guillaume's face, almost carefree and relaxed in his sleep. It would solve their problem of having to be quite so discreet about their relationship, but it would add a score of other complications in exchange. The public interest they could probably handle; one didn't grow up in a royal family without learning how to survive under the scrutiny of the press, and they both had the advantage that they weren't _that_ interesting to begin with. But the private ties, those would be more complicated, and Amedeo wished he could go and talk to William and his lover about their experiences on that front.

Guillaume's family might be the easier ones to deal with in this. Amedeo had caught enough hints and snatches of conversation over the years to know that neither Grand Duke Henri nor his wife had ever truly bought their son's sole official relationship, but they seemed quite relaxed about it all. Amedeo, on the other hand, was starting to be drawn into not-so-subtle conversations about marriage and children at every opportunity by his mother. Quite how she expected him to get to that point when she practically had an apoplexy at the mere mention of him having a girlfriend had so far escaped him, and he wasn't about to ask for clarification. But the one thing he didn't have to ask about was her stance on him bringing home a male lover; when he'd made a calculated joke to judge her reaction years ago, it had taken her a month to stop telling him how unacceptable that would be.

Sighing, he pinched the bridge of his nose. If they really went ahead and outed themselves, his mother was going to be a lot scarier than anything the press could throw at them, and she'd probably draw his father and grandfather into it as well. He wasn't certain what to think of the possibility of being ordered to drop his relationship by the King of Belgium.

But what were they supposed to do? Keep up the secrecy forever? Guillaume had turned thirty last winter, people were starting to look at him askance for not making any moves to start a family and secure the line of succession. Amedeo still had a few years' worth of grace before anyone but his mother would begin to whisper about wives and marriage, but it was going to come, too, and there'd be huge pressure on them very soon, once it started. Amedeo didn't want to think too much about where that could lead if either of them reached their breaking point.

They had another year yet, maybe two, but after that they'd need to make a move. And they'd better start preparing for that soon, because the effort involved was going to take everything they had, and more.

With another soft sigh, Amedeo tucked himself tightly against Guillaume and tried to focus on his presence to force those thoughts of concerns and complications away for a little while.

***

Amedeo was just comfortably settled on the couch in his small, tidy guest room, slightly worn copy of _Good Omens_ in hand which he'd liberated - after considerable surprise at the discovery - from Guillaume's bookshelves, when the sharp knock at the door made him look up.

"Come in," he called out, put the book down on the low table in front of him and gave Guillaume a cheerful little wave of his hand when his lover stepped inside.

"Just what," Guillaume asked, his expression hovering somewhere between astonishment, delight and confusion, "are you doing here?"

"Right now I'm reading," Amedeo said reasonably, then grinned when he was rewarded with a slightly exasperated look. "I came up from Strasbourg by train and I missed my connection onwards to Brussels. Did you know there are no trains going north from Luxembourg past eight in the evening for the next week because they're doing railroad repairs? Anyway, I got stranded here."

And truly accidentally, too; he'd intended to meet up with Guillaume for the weekend after spending tomorrow with his mother and Joachim. The schedule had been too tight for anything else, especially since he'd been supposed to go through a debriefing with his uncle this evening which had now been pushed to tomorrow.

"That explains Luxembourg." Guillaume studied him, his arms folded in front of his chest. "It doesn't explain why my mother just told me that she's going out with my father tonight for dinner, theatre and drinks and that I don't need to wait up for them, but that I should check whether you're all right up here in my guest room. Why didn't you call?"

Amedeo frowned at the hint of reproach he heard. "I did. Your assistant told me you were in a meeting, so I left a note. An hour later you'd gone directly to your next appointment, and thirty minutes after that the woman finally went home, she's certainly deserved it. You must have three or four missed calls from me on your mobile phone."

He knew Guillaume's days were filled with his duties as representative of the Grand Ducal Family with the active role he took in politics by now, but Amedeo was only starting to realise just how filled they really were. Dawn till dusk, with plenty of night shifts in-between, no doubt.

"Anyway, I gave up after that and figured I'd just work out something by myself." He briefly paused to sit up and swing his legs off the couch. "And since it was an official appointment I had, I called the palace offices in Laeken to tell them I wouldn't make it back tonight on their planned itinerary and that they didn't need to send out search teams to rescue me. They felt that a poor, helpless Prince of Belgium can't be allowed to just find a bed for the night by himself, called your father's staff and arranged to have me collected at the station. And then your mother decided not to have me rattle about in the guest wing all by myself and put me into your rooms so you can entertain me."

Guillaume blinked. "Did she, now," he said as he came over to sit down by Amedeo's side. "And did she say anything about what I was supposed to do to entertain you?"

Amedeo shrugged. "Scrabble, I imagine. Canasta. Maybe a round of Monopoly if we get bored." He drew up one leg and turned towards his lover, eyebrows quirked suggestively. "Unless you've got other ideas?"

By now Guillaume's mock-irritated mien was spoiled by the smile curling at the corner of his lips. "Maybe I do," he returned, framed Amedeo's face with his hands and drew him in for a kiss.

Catching the smell and taste of cigarettes, Amedeo pulled back with a frown. “Stop smoking,” he murmured. Stress relief, he knew, and Guillaume didn’t do it in New York – they had other ways of relieving tension there, after all – but Amedeo still didn’t approve in any way.

“I didn’t know you’d be here, or I wouldn’t have.” Guillaume tried for another kiss, his breath a quick rush of air against Amedeo’s cheek.

“You’re lucky that I’m in a forgiving mood.” A teasing nip to Guillaume's lower lip, then Amedeo kissed him back, licking and nibbling and coaxing until he had the responses he'd been looking for. With Guillaume it was simply fun to do this, in part because he always presented a little challenge, cool and holding back just a bit at first until Amedeo got him to a point where he'd give in and just _play_ , without any thoughts to each and every move. Amedeo had suspected at first that it was a lack of practise, but by now he was thinking of it as crossing the line that divided Guillaume from being the Hereditary Grand Duke of Luxembourg, a little stifled by manners and politeness. Kissing the latter tended to be a fairly chaste affair and fit for public consumption, whereas doing so with just Guillaume was always a lot more promising and involved a lot more tongue.

Right now he was definitely dealing with Guillaume, not the Hereditary Grand Duke, and so it wasn't a great surprise when he eventually found himself on his back, Guillaume half sprawled on top of him as they talked in-between touches and kisses that were slowly driving him to distraction.

"I told you I went to London for a day last week, didn't I?" Guillaume said, sighing quietly and squirming a little when Amedeo's hand found its way past the hem of his shirt and slowly slid upwards across bare skin.

"You mentioned it. Nice trip, was it?"

Guillaume hesitated a moment, long enough for Amedeo to lean his head back and look up into his eyes. "I went to talk to William."

Now that was unexpected. Amedeo had poked and prodded him for a month now at every reasonable opportunity about improving his contacts with William and Carl Philip, but he hadn't thought he'd get a result that quickly. "How did it go?" he asked, letting the strokes of his hand turn calming rather than arousing.

Guillaume didn't answer immediately, and he patiently waited. "Well enough, I think," his lover said eventually. "He promised we've got his support if we need it, and Carl Philip's, too."

As far as Amedeo was concerned there was no question whether they'd need it. Whatever support they could get, he'd take, no matter where it came from. But having that particular couple on their side was a considerable advantage; this was the sort of backing that might just turn the tide for them if they ever found themselves in too much trouble over daring to be in love with each other.

"Did you see both of them?" he asked, reaching up with his other hand to brush a strand of dark hair out of Guillaume's face.

Guillaume shook his head. "Just William. I managed to catch him alone, though, so we could talk without interruptions. Or anyone overhearing. But he seemed sure Carl Philip would lend a hand too if necessary."

Amedeo considered this. "I hope so," he said after a minute. "I know I'd trust you to know me well enough to make that sort of promise in my stead, so we'd better count on them being the same. And if William is willing to take our side after you talked to him... that's quite an achievement, love." He brought up his free hand to cup the nape of Guillaume's neck and draw him down into a kiss. "I'm proud of you," he murmured against his lips.

It couldn't have come easy to Guillaume to do that, Amedeo knew him well enough to be certain there. Guillaume was an excellent diplomat on the professional level, but for a personal matter like this it must have cost him a huge effort to bring himself to go ahead and proactively seek William out. But this was an important step forward, and Guillaume had gone ahead and done it for them.

"I love you," he said quietly, looking him in the eye. It wasn't the first time he'd said those words, not by a long shot, but it still felt important every time.

Guillaume held his gaze, that unguarded, genuine smile on his face that Amedeo treasured whenever he could make it appear. "I love you too," he returned, lightly resting his forehead against Amedeo's. "You make me happy to have you."

They regarded each other for a few moments longer, then Amedeo just couldn't keep the little laugh from escaping him any more.

"When did we turn so sappy?" he asked, rising up to nip the tip of Guillaume's nose.

"When you proposed marriage last month," his lover returned deadpan, then ducked to kiss him in a way that was just unfairly teasing and not nearly as involved as Amedeo wanted. He reached up and tangled his hands in Guillaume's short hair to bring their mouths together properly.

"Don't tell me you changed your mind about that already," he murmured, drawing back just far enough to talk. It had been less a proposal and more a matter of Amedeo informing Guillaume that they were going to marry and he'd better get used to the idea, because while Guillaume had been working up to the same matter, he'd begun his usual cycle of overthinking and overanalysing and contingency planning. So Amedeo had cut straight to the chase, with the result that he now officially had a fiancé, even though it was in a highly unofficial way since they hadn't actually told anyone else yet.

Guillaume gave him the sort of look that said he couldn't believe he was even asking. "Of course I haven't changed my mind. Surely you don't think-"

Amedeo firmly dragged him down into a kiss again before Guillaume could embark on another round of second-guessing the situation. "Good," he growled. "Because you're mine and I plan to keep you."

For a moment Guillaume appeared almost startled at the sudden intensity, then Amedeo felt him give in and did his best to keep his lover's mind firmly on the present and not on pointless speculation and contingency plans.

When it was all once more going to his satisfaction, he took up his caresses again, trying to demonstrate just how much he valued Guillaume's achievement with William, and had to smile when his lover needed a second or two to switch back into his former relaxation. They'd have to work on that, but there'd be plenty of time - and opportunities - to convince Guillaume that he could let down his guard a little more.

When he slid an exploring hand past the waistband of Guillaume's trousers, tempting, teasing, it was enough to draw a delicious moan, followed by a delightful little shiver when he let his fingers tap out a slow pattern against sensitive skin.

Another moan, then Guillaume suddenly disentangled himself and backed off. Amedeo tried to keep him down, growling in protest, but he sat up fully, then had the temerity to actually rise from the couch.

"Let's take this to my bedroom," he said in a rough whisper. "Because I really want to do more to you than just touch and kiss."

Amedeo gave him a mock frown. "You mean you don't stock your guestrooms with lube?" he teased.

"An egregious oversight," Guillaume returned and held out his hand. "I'll make it up to you?"

Amedeo let himself drawn to his feet readily enough at that, and when he was in Guillaume's bed, writhing with pleasure as they found their rhythm together, he couldn't think of anywhere else he'd rather be. They still had a long way to go, but right now, so intimately close, sharing laughs and kisses and moans, Amedeo couldn't spare more than a fleeting thought for the road ahead of them.

***

There were tens of thousands of restaurants and cafés scattered all over New York City - one for each day of your life, as some tourist guides liked to claim. Not that anyone ever tried that; one might shop around a bit, look and this and that, follow some recommendations, but in the end almost everyone ended up with a handful of favourites. Sometimes for their ambience, for their food, their service. Their location, or simply because friends also went there.

That last was the reason why many of Amedeo's acquaintances from the European royal circles tended to stick to a few select places. Discreet personnel, press-free areas (mostly thanks to being too un-glamorous for the real tabloid favourites to go there), and you were almost guaranteed to run into someone you knew for a chance of casual conversation without being stifled by gala uniforms or fancy dresses. When you grew up attending formal dinners several times a month, you really learned to appreciate how great it was to sit down in jeans and a t-shirt and only see one set of cutlery laid out before you.

A perfect way to relax, really. So when Amedeo found himself at loose ends for his lunch break, with no colleagues to accompany or clients to entertain, he made a little detour to his favourite little café and was soon sprawled in an armchair in a corner, cappuccino and sandwich within easy reach while he caught up on his reading.

"Mind if I sit here?"

He looked up, an automatic smile on his face which widened once he saw who was interrupting. "Of course not," he said politely, but didn't get up to perform the whole shebang of royal manners. Casual environment, he figured, casual treatment, and this was a woman well capable of pulling out her own chair. "Please, I'm by myself for today, it's nice to have company. You save me from a lonely lunch."

If there was one thing you could be sure of, it was that time spent in the presence of Princess Theodora of Greece and Denmark wouldn't be boring. Amedeo didn't know her particularly well but they were on a solid basis for banter and small talk, enough to tide them over an hour or two.

"Lacking company, a nice young man like you?" Theodora said as she sat down in the other armchair. "Whatever _is_ the world coming to?"

He'd ascertained a while ago that she really wasn't after him for his potential as a husband even though, for two royals, they'd make an amazingly unobjectionable match in terms of genetic safety as cousins of a mere fifth degree. As long as that didn't change, he was more than willing to entertain her.

"It's very tragic, but I'll just accept my fate and console myself with your presence." He winked at her and sketched a sloppy salute. "Much better, anyway. What are you up to?"

"Filming for a few days, so I thought I'd stop by and see who else is in town right now. I get you today, then I've got a lunch date with Tatiana and Andrea tomorrow and Guillaume on Friday, he called me earlier and said he was at loose ends."

He certainly was; Amedeo had initially intended to get out of the office early, but a few rescheduled meetings had ruined that plan. They'd have the weekend, and Monday since Guillaume's flight left late that day, but Friday was a loss and might as well be used for other matters, much to Amedeo's regret.

That little arrangement between his lover and Theodora never failed to fascinate him for its elegant duplicity and sheer cheek. He'd never have thought that Guillaume, of all people, would come up with such an ingenious and downright sneaky solution to the perennial matchmaking problem. As far as all parents with eligible princesses of the right age were concerned, the Hereditary Grand Duke of Luxembourg was in a low-key relationship with the Princess of Greece and Denmark and thus not a viable option for their daughters. It didn't fool everyone - Amedeo was practically certain Guillaume's parents had very few illusions where their son's Greco-Danish romance was concerned - but it worked well enough.

In addition, it had the highly convenient side effect of adding another layer of camouflage to his own relationship with Guillaume. They'd never talked about it with Theodora; as far as she was concerned, she knew that Guillaume was gay, but that was about it. Since the arrangement suited her just as much as him and saved her from a mother anxious to see her married sooner rather than later, she didn't seem about to dig any further.

"Sounds like a busy schedule," Amedeo said, then waited until she'd ordered her lunch from the waitress. "What are you filming?"

"Another police procedural, as a guest part." Theodora dropped her handbag down next to her chair and made herself comfortable. "I'm the second corpse."

Amedeo chuckled at the proud emphasis on the number. "Better than being the first corpse?"

"Of course. I get two scenes before I'm drowned in a goldfish bowl."

He raised an eyebrow as he attempted to picture that particular image. "Poor goldfish."

Theodora scowled at him, and he had no trouble seeing the reason for Guillaume's assessment of her as a woman to be reckoned with. "Who cares about the fish?"

"Well, imagine what it must be like for them. There they are, happily swimming about, and suddenly you... drop in, so to say." He smirked at her. "If I were a fish, I'd be traumatised."

She looked at him, then shook her head and laughed. "Keep talking like that and I'll be forced to agree with Andrea's opinion of you."

"And what would that be?" Amedeo asked, picking up his coffee cup and taking a sip, his eyes carefully fixed on her face to avoid the unnerving distraction of a _very_ low-cut neckline.

"That you're a Habsburg, so you can't help it if you're a little strange." Theodora's glass of Zinfandel arrived, along with a chocolate muffin, and they both fell silent until the waitress had disappeared again. The staff in this place knew better than to listen in, a behaviour regularly reinforced by generous tips from their royal guests.

Inwardly suppressing a sigh, Amedeo nodded. "The classic, I see. You know, I could say the same about Andrea and his pirate ancestors."

"It's not like anyone's ever going to claim that Andrea is entirely normal, least of all Andrea himself. But that would be boring anyway, wouldn't it? There are all these terribly average and standard guys with good manners and good dress sense, and not an ounce of personality. I'll take eccentricity over that any day."

"So there's hope for us yet, my dear?" he asked, fluttering his eyelashes at her. In another world, without Guillaume, he might have felt tempted by the idea, but here it was merely a way of teasing her, and he wouldn't have wanted it any other way.

She laughed and blew him a kiss. "If Guillaume ever dumps me, you can be the one to console me."

"A fictional rebound to a fictional relationship?" he couldn't help remarking, and when she looked at him, a startled expression on her face, he gave her a little smile. "Don't worry, I'm not going to spoil it. You two are far too entertaining to watch."

Theodora recovered her sass quickly, he had to grant her that. "Of course, Amedeo, we're doing it only to amuse you."

"As if you could have any other reason," he said, then turned a little more serious. "I take it your parents actually believe it?"

She shrugged. "So far, yes. Mother is even starting to talk about whether I'd need to convert or not, and how Luxembourg is not quite as big as she'd have hoped for, but that it will just have to do." Taking up her wine, she took a deep swallow. "Consider yourself lucky that you don't have that problem."

"I do, actually, it's just that my mother never deemed you a suitable option or you'd have heard of it. She's doing her shopping for a daughter-in-law mostly in Germany these days, the percentage of proper Catholic princesses is higher there."

At least his mother was being subtle so far. She was beginning to be quite insistent about him finding a future wife - never a girlfriend, there was an important distinction between the two concepts, and God beware he should begin a relationship without the immediate intention to marry and reproduce - but so far she was leaving the choice of the second person involved up to him. A casual introduction here and there when a suitable candidate came into view, but that was it. Amedeo had no illusions, however, that it would stay like that forever. He had a few more years of grace, and after that there'd be a parade of potential wives.

He hid his sigh behind the last mouthfuls of coffee and summoned a more cheerful expression again. They'd made their decision when they'd agreed on marriage; now it was just a matter of finding the opportune moment to break the news, and of laying as solid a foundation beforehand as they could.

***

At first glance, a three-month stint in the New Zealand office was the sort of opportunity worth praying for and when his name had come up for it, Amedeo hadn't protested. He'd been too busy being gleeful about his little achievement, especially once he'd talked to a few people and confirmed that this wasn't because of the royal ornamentation surrounding his name, but on his own merits alone.

Only later had he figured out that there were more than a few drawbacks. The weather, for one thing - New Zealand from July to October might sound amazing at first, until you realised that this was the southern hemisphere and temperatures required coats, gloves and boots rather than beach wear. And when you were used to the rhythm and speed of New York City, Wellington felt like doing everything in slow motion.

And then there was the small issue of New Zealand being practically at the end of the world and completely cut off from the rest of civilisation. Which was something you could live with if you weren't too keen on knowing what went on in other places, but when you were in a relationship, it was a very different matter.

The day after the confirmation for his trip had come, Amedeo had sat down to look at flight schedules, then had blanched at learning that a trip to Europe was virtually impossible in less than forty hours. Compared to that, the hops across the Atlantic he and Guillaume were doing on a bi-weekly basis looked like trips to the neighbouring village. At first he'd consoled himself with the thought of making up for it with talks on the phone, until he'd figured out the time difference and how impossible that made it. That had been the moment when he'd been seriously tempted to cancel the whole thing. He didn't _need_ to do this, especially not when he had other concerns that mattered a lot more than advancing his career.

Guillaume had been the one to talk him into going ahead with it, all sensible and matter-of-fact. And it wasn't that Amedeo wasn't grateful to him, but right now, halfway through the stay, it felt like he'd been stuck here forever, and that it would never end.

It was fun, he wasn't denying it. There were new colleagues to meet, a new city to discover, and plenty of amazing trips to make and things to do. New Zealand wasn't a country easily travelled to, not even as a royal, so it was a rare opportunity he'd have treasured beyond belief two years ago, if only for the sudden independence it provided him with. There wasn't even any observation through the Belgian embassy; there was a consulate in Wellington, which he'd dutifully visited because the employees had been genuinely delighted at actually having one of their royals around, but that was it. The next real diplomatic representation was over in Australia, which meant there was no-one here to keep tabs on his whereabouts and actions. It wasn't that he intended to actually _use_ this sudden freedom, but it was still good to know that his mother wasn't going to be able to find out whether he was eating his vegetables.

But with matters as they were, he simply couldn't enjoy it fully. Three months of not seeing Guillaume weren't that long a time, not when they'd already had stretches during which their schedules had kept them apart for a month. Still, whenever that had happened they'd managed to make up for it with a few uninterrupted days, enough to last them again for a little while. Now it was a seemingly never-ending span of twelve weeks at least, and that when they'd already had a stressful month beforehand and had barely managed half a day in the same place to say goodbye.

If anyone had ever told Amedeo he'd be homesick one day, he'd never have believed it. And he wasn't, not really. He didn't care whether he was in Wellington, or in New York, or Brussels; he'd spent too much time in boarding schools and later at university to be truly attached to one place. What he cared about was being near Guillaume, and right now even talking to him was close to impossible because the time lag wreaked havoc on their arrangements.

A little more than one month to go. So far he'd managed to refrain from counting the days, but he knew it was a battle he'd inevitably lose, and soon. Throwing himself headfirst into work helped somewhat; if he was drafting concepts, calculating cash flows and micro-managing his ongoing projects for every waking hour, he at least spent less time checking whether there wasn't a new email, or maybe even a voice message.

Amedeo had the uneasy suspicion that he was, in fact, pining for his lover. It didn't bear thinking about.

At least they'd have a week together once he got back. Amedeo could imagine the sort of effort it must have taken on Guillaume's part to shovel his schedule free of anything for that long, but he couldn't bring himself to feel guilty about it. One week, a whole week, just for the two of them to catch up. Not that it would be nearly enough. Until then, he'd just have to try and keep himself busy.

Work conspired to help him with that; a few client projects crashed spectacularly that week and left the whole team in a frenzy as they tried to pick up the pieces and get it all moving again. By the time it all was at least halfway sorted again, it was four in the morning on Friday - no, Saturday, Amedeo realised, Friday had been the day before - and he was wide awake on coffee, energy drinks and stress when he sent out the last missing piece of their analysis.

Almost on a whim he fired off a quick email to Guillaume, just to help himself calm down before he even attempted to catch some sleep. Half a minute later he almost jumped through the roof with shock when his phone rang without any warning. Amedeo glanced at the display, half fearing that something else had gone wrong with the project, then scrambled to answer when he recognised the number.

"I take it you had a nice evening if you're still awake right now," Guillaume greeted him, his voice a balm on Amedeo's overwrought nerves.

"Not really, but who cares." Amedeo attempted to calculate the time difference in his head to figure out whether it was afternoon or evening for Guillaume, but there'd been too many numbers over the past hours to let him get to a result. "I didn't think you'd be home already. Didn't you have some sort of meeting today... yesterday?"

"It's late Friday afternoon, Amedeo, I'm home already. If I'd known you were awake, I'd have called earlier."

"Better that you didn't, I was still stuck in work and that would have been torture then." Amedeo emptied the last dregs of his coffee, then got up from his desk to stretch his back, wincing when his spine didn't cooperate immediately. "Never mind, I'm just glad to hear your voice. I really missed you this week."

"I miss you too. At least more than half of this is over by now." That sounded like he wasn't the only one to keep a close eye on the calendar; reassuring in more than one way.

He arched his back, tired muscles protesting against the strain, then settled down on the narrow couch amidst a chaos of scattered print-outs and reference papers. "Five more weeks, then I'm on the plane. I really can't wait to see you again."

There was a quiet sigh at the other end, barely audible. "We'll have your sister's party to get through first, though."

"I know. It's going to be nice to see everyone, but... I really wouldn't mind if we could have done that a day or two later." He started collecting the papers into a stack; sorting would have to wait until he was reasonably capable of processing just what all the writing was about. "Before I forget to tell you, I asked my mother's assistant to see whether she can't find me a quiet place to sleep somewhere in one of the side buildings. Officially I'm expecting to be absolutely jet-lagged and really not up to noisy party guests until morning."

They'd had it all planned out so perfectly at first, but now that they'd both be at a family party, explaining why they weren't staying at the palace would raise far too many questions. It was another situation that left him torn between the need to keep their relationship private and the need to simply _have_ that relationship, and the more it all carried on, the harder it became to keep this balanced.

"Officially?" Guillaume repeated, and Amedeo could easily picture his amused expression just now. He wanted to be there and see it, kiss the hint of a smile that always accompanied this particular tone of voice. "And unofficially?"

"Unofficially that means a door that locks, and nobody anywhere near to intrude. So if you'd like to share my refuge..." He trailed off and pinched the bridge of his nose, hard, when the awareness intruded that this wasn't a plan for the immediate future they were making.

Five more weeks to go, and he already was long past the time when he'd genuinely felt like teasing. Knowing that he could draw a smile from Guillaume mattered, but what he really wanted, what he needed, was for them to be together again. What he wouldn't give right now for a chance to reach out and just touch Guillaume, let alone anything more. He gathered up the remaining print-outs with his left hand, then dropped the pile to the floor.

"Don't give me ideas, I'm having enough trouble sleeping as it is." Guillaume sounded just as frustrated as Amedeo felt. "You've confirmed your flight already?"

"Yes. Friday at noon, so I get to Brussels in time for Luisa's party." They both knew the exact times, and had done so for almost a month already, but it was the one graspable point in time they were both focused on. Amedeo had never been particularly excited about getting on a flight, but this time he knew he'd be thrilled once the plane left the ground. "Ah, damn it, Guillaume, we're not doing this again."

His lover laughed softly. "Let's figure it out once you're back. I think we'll be fine until the end of the year, I had a look at your days off and I've moved my appointments around a bit to match."

Amedeo grumbled a wordless agreement, then curled up on the now paper-less couch, his free arm wrapped tightly around himself as he listened to Guillaume tell a story about the opening ceremony of some museum exhibit this afternoon. If anyone had asked him, Amedeo couldn't have repeated a word of it, but he didn't care. He was absolutely exhausted from the past week, he was tired of this situation, and he was simply lonely.

"You've been doing too much already these weeks," he chided when Guillaume mentioned his upcoming appointments. A stack of envelopes caught his eye; the mail from the last days that he hadn't yet had time to look at.

"I know, but that way nobody's going to wonder if I take it easier in the coming months. It's not like I've got anything better to do right now, I might as well make use of the time." Guillaume had a point, of course, and under other circumstances Amedeo probably would have worried more. But now... an easier schedule sounded heavenly. He'd have to see whether he couldn't juggle his workload a little too, but it was hard to arrange from here.

"Just don't exaggerate? I don't want to come back and find you've keeled over." A postcard from Maria Laura caught his eye, sent from one of her study trips to China; could he and Guillaume arrange for a holiday together, he idly wondered as he put it down.

"Concerned that I won't be of any use to you like that, are you?"

Amedeo had to laugh. "Very much. What else do I keep you for, after all?" he asked, turning serious again while reaching for another envelope. "Take care of yourself, love."

"I'm not the one still awake for the sunrise because work got out of hand," Guillaume grumbled.

"It's not quite sunrise," Amedeo protested, but a glance outside at the lightening sky told him that it wasn't too far off. He might as well forget about sleeping altogether at that rate. An envelope labelled in careful children's writing caught his eye - a letter from Laetitia, who'd discovered the excitement of stamps and post boxes this year. He glanced through it, a growing smile on his face at her cheerful tales, then carefully put it aside to give it all the attention it deserved once he was more awake. He looked through the rest of the letters and dumped them on the floor as well when nothing else of importance turned up. "Have I mentioned that I miss you?"

"We've gotten through the larger part of it already, and we'll manage the rest," Guillaume said, his voice pitched in a calming tone that made Amedeo wonder just how petulant he must be sounding. But he was wrung out physically and starting to get there emotionally, so he figured he had a right to it. "I have to leave, my father wants to look at some plans for next week with me. It might take a while, but I'll try to call you later."

'Later', his least favourite word in the world these days. Amedeo did his best not to be unfair and let his sigh be audible. "Do that. I love you."

"I love you too," Guillaume told him, then ended the call.

***

When he finally stepped off the plane and into the gate at Brussels Airport, Amedeo wasn't quite at a point where he wanted to fall to his knees and kiss the ground, but he could see the appeal in the gesture.

Back, finally back. Not home - that was New York at the moment - but on territory that felt a lot more familiar than anything he'd seen for the past months. Even the airport was a little different from the ones he'd transited through in the past day and a half; simply hearing people speak French and Dutch all around him was enough to make him feel nostalgic.

The Palace staff had sent one of the drivers to collect him rather than wait and see whether he remembered how to use a taxi. Under normal circumstances Amedeo didn't like the preferential treatment much but in Brussels he appreciated it, if only because it was always a bit tricky to convince a taxi driver that yes, he wanted to be taken to the Royal Residences, yes, he knew they were off limits to tourists, and yes, the guards at the gate would know what to do about him. Being fairly unknown in the country which you were a prince of could be a bit complicated at times.

With the delayed flight, the even further delayed baggage claim and the rush hour traffic, Amedeo barely had time to greet his parents and congratulate Luisa on her birthday before he had to hurry to grab a quick shower and sort through his luggage for appropriate clothes before the guests began to arrive. He was still straightening his collar and adjusting the knot of his tie as he hurried along the pathway up to the castle where the party was held, careful to stay off the gravel and on the grass so he wouldn't get his shoes dusty.

"Hey Amedeo!"

He turned around to the sound of another set of rapid footsteps and waited for Félix to catch up with him. Not the Luxembourgian prince he'd hoped to see, but he still waved cheerfully in greeting.

"Did they send you ahead by yourself?" he asked once he didn't have to shout to make himself heard, and surreptitiously kept an eye on the direction Félix had come from in case Guillaume turned up as well.

Félix shook his head. "No, Mama just ordered me back to change my tie, she decided the one I'd picked wasn't right and there's no way I'm going to argue with that." A last tug at his collar, then he seemed satisfied. "So how was New Zealand?"

"Full of sheep and people with fake pointy ears," Amedeo said, then mustered some enthusiasm. "But interesting, it's just different in a lot of ways. And after New York, there was quite a lot of nature all at a sudden."

"Sounds good, the elves aside." Félix glanced down to fiddle with his cufflinks, then took a step sidewards to join Amedeo on the grass. "And did you get to see some of it, or was it all work? They've got beaches, right?"

Amedeo had to laugh. "I fell for that one as well. They've got beaches, but swimming really isn't an option unless you don't care about water temperatures. It's a great country to go to if you want to get out into the open, but it's more a matter of hiking. Horseback riding, too."

They stopped briefly so Félix could re-polish his shoes with his handkerchief, then continued chatting for the rest of the way.

Amedeo ended up describing the land of his exile for the past three months several more times in the next hour. Most of his relatives were experienced travellers who'd seen much of the world, but few had ever gotten quite that far (not that he could blame them, really), and so he did his duty as a member of today's host family and tried his best to make it all sound positive.

"You really have to be careful when you're standing underneath a tree," he told his ten-year-old sister, his face perfectly straight, "and always watch out for drop bears. They've migrated to New Zealand from Australia by now and they're very dangerous."

Laetitia listened, her eyes growing wider and wider. "I'm never going there," she eventually declared. "Never. Amedeo, I'm so glad you're back safe, that's just... nasty!"

Mission accomplished, he thought with an inward smile as she imperiously tugged him down so she could hug him, at least until she googled them for the first time.

Another group of guests arrived and Amedeo's breath caught in his throat as he spotted his lover, involved in a conversation with Philippe and Mathilde. A touch of tan from the summer, his hair a little shorter, but still _Guillaume_ , and it was the hardest thing not to cross the room, grab him, kiss him breathless and hold on to him for dear life.

Amedeo took a minute to gather himself, then casually ambled over to the little group, one hand occupied with a glass of red wine, the other safely tucked into his pocket to avoid the temptation of reaching out.

"Our adventurer is back, I see," Philippe greeted him, stepping aside to make room for him to join them. "When did you arrive? Astrid didn't seem sure you'd be able to make it."

"Earlier this afternoon. I wouldn't miss Luisa's big day, no matter what." Easy small talk, fortunately, the sort his mouth could handle all by itself while the rest of him was focused on Guillaume, body and soul. _I missed you_ he wanted to tell his lover. _I missed you, and I love you, and can we please get out of here right now?_ But all he could do was glance at Guillaume and meet his eyes for a moment before they both had to look away.

"I've got no idea how she managed to grow up that quickly," Philippe said. "But it's the same with our little herd, you blink and they seem to have grown another few centimetres."

"Not just seem to," Mathilde corrected, "They do. I've got the outgrown clothes to prove it. Amedeo, I don't suppose you'll be having a need for children's clothes anytime soon? I could donate whole closets full."

"Thanks for the offer, but no," he answered with most of his attention still on Guillaume, who was just taking a surreptitious step backwards. And another. A half-turn, and a moment later he was gone into the next room.

If he could have, Amedeo would have been after him, and to hell with all checks and balances and considerations. But Mathilde had her hand on his arm and was saying something about dancing and before he could gather his wits again and stop wondering why Guillaume was running, she'd manoeuvred him onto the open space.

Two waltzes with his aunt, then he was handed over to the birthday child for yet another.

"Enjoying yourself?" he asked Luisa once they'd settled into the rhythm together. She was a lot better than the last time he remembered, when he'd still had to fear for his feet.

His sister scowled at him. "You really have to ask?"

"Welcome to the club. Don't worry, none of us liked the actual party, it's just something you have to get through." Patting her side, he gave her an encouraging smile. "And keep in mind that you get to have slightly more to say about these things from now on. Besides, I bet Joachim and Laura are going to make sure you've got a proper celebration tonight once the obligatory guests are gone."

The look in her eyes turned from irritated to devious. "What makes you think they haven't done so already?" she asked. "Yesterday night went on a lot longer than some people think."

He had to laugh at the satisfied smirk that accompanied her statement. "Well done, little sister, well done. I'm sorry I missed it."

And he was; the sibling party had turned into something of a tradition for them. He'd done it for Maria Laura, to keep her eighteenth birthday from turning into just another get-together rather than the special celebration it should be. Together they'd then arranged something for Joachim when it had been his turn. And now Luisa... on the one hand he was glad he wasn't going to be torn between her and Guillaume tonight, because he knew how that one would have turned out and how guilty he'd have felt. But on the other hand, it was a shame he hadn't been able to participate.

"You can make it up to me," Luisa said, her thoughts appearing to run in the same direction. "I'm an adult now, so they've got to let me travel by myself. And Joachim says your couch is really comfortable to sleep on."

He raised an eyebrow at her. "Subtle."

She batted her eyelashes at him in a deceptively innocent manner. "Please?"

"Of course. Any time you want." And hopefully not at the same time Guillaume was there, even though he could always explain that as a friendly visit (though explaining why Guillaume had to sleep in his bed might take some more elaborate fibbing).

Once again he looked around to see where his lover had disappeared to, and caught sight of him near one of the French doors that opened towards the terrace. But by the time he had Luisa deposited in the arms of Sébastien for the next dance, Guillaume was gone again.

Irritating. Highly irritating.

In a way, Amedeo was almost grateful that Guillaume was keeping them apart. The less temptation there was, the better. But at the same time he'd give anything right now just to be able to talk to him face to face and not over the phone. Whether he'd be able to keep it to talking, though... still, it was worth a try, wasn't it?

For the next hours, Amedeo did the best he could to keep himself occupied and distracted. His attempts to hunt down Guillaume didn't work out - his lover had obviously caught on but wasn't playing along, and that in itself was turning into an interesting little game that only served to sharpen the need to finally get him. Under other circumstances, Amedeo was sure he'd have found it highly entertaining, rather than a blend of arousing and frustrating.

"Are you all right, dear?" his mother asked him when she stopped by his side. "You know you can leave any time if you get tired, everybody will understand."

"I'm fine, don't worry," he told her. "I was asleep for most of both long hauls and besides, it's morning in New Zealand right now so I'll be awake anyway until I adjust."

She gave him an appraising look, then sighed quietly. "If you say so. Just don't overdo it, dear, not now that we've got you back home safe and sound."

"I'll sleep in tomorrow," he promised. He certainly didn't intend to surface anytime soon, not if he could manage to bring Guillaume along. Right now he wasn't sure how much they could get away with before it all turned too risky in terms of being discovered, but one night and a lazy morning simply had to be possible. After that, they'd see.

His mother leaned in to kiss his cheek. "I know you want peace and quiet over the next few days to recover, but I'd like you to come to dinner tomorrow," she said. "If you're up to it by then. It's so rare that we get to have you here."

Amedeo smiled at her. "I'll be there," he promised. It wasn't often that the entire family was in one place these days, and he did miss it. He just wished he could be sure that his mother would be as welcoming towards Guillaume, but he had the uneasy feeling that just acceptance would be an achievement in that case.

A bridge to cross when they came to it.

He spent some more time chatting with various relatives, then let himself be dragged off by Laetitia for a demonstration of how much she'd learned in her dance lessons already. Cautious to keep himself from stepping on her feet - which kept appearing in unexpected places when she couldn't quite maintain the right speed for the beat - he didn't hold back with his praise and was rewarded with the sort of thoroughly happy look that made him feel he'd managed to be a proper older brother.

When Guillaume finally turned the tables and voluntarily came to him, it was all Amedeo could do to hold still and not lean in to kiss him in front of fifty of their closest relatives. It wasn't even about the three months without sex, it was about three months without _Guillaume_ , and now everything he wanted was within arm's length and he still wasn't allowed to reach out and touch. So when Guillaume offered a way out that wouldn't lead to any questions, Amedeo was already moving before he'd even voiced an agreement.

Once they made it safely behind locked doors and out of anyone's earshot, there simply wasn't any room for finesse or drawn-out foreplay and Amedeo put a quick stop to it when Guillaume gave it a try. There was a time and place for teasing, but this wasn't it, this was about need and want and a complete unwillingness to hold back any longer.

Afterwards he drifted off to sleep; he didn't intend to, not when there was so much he wanted and so little time for it all, but long-standing exhaustion took its toll and finally being back with Guillaume, warm and comfortable in the afterglow, made it impossible to fight the drowsiness.

He was jerked out of sleep by a hand on his shoulder moments or hours later, startling enough to make him sit up before he was even aware of it.

"What..."

"Shh, you were having a nightmare," Guillaume told him, the even sound of his voice a means for Amedeo to orient himself, along with the steady hand low on his belly. "And I couldn't get you calmed down the usual way, so I thought I'd wake you. You didn't exactly sound like you were enjoying yourself."

Amedeo considered it, then shrugged. "Maybe. You know I don't remember." He took a deep breath and slowly exhaled, his senses heightened with adrenaline. "Did I get you?" He’d known for a while now that he didn't lie still during those dreams, though he'd never been able to figure out what this was all about. It didn't worry him, though, as long as he didn't leave his lover with unintended bruises again.

He could make out Guillaume's smile in the dim moonlight that shone through the window. They'd forgotten the curtains in their earlier rush, and now it was enough to faintly illuminate the room. "Barely. I've learned to duck by now."

Briefly, Amedeo tried to see whether he could remember something and frowned when nothing came to mind. "Sorry," he said as he slowly settled down again, then rolled onto his side and slipped an arm around Guillaume's waist to bring them closer together.

"Never mind." Guillaume kissed his forehead and, when Amedeo tilted up his head expectantly, his mouth. "Maybe you just aren't used to having me in your bed anymore."

"I've never had a chance to get used to it in the first place," Amedeo pointed out before claiming another kiss. "That's something we really need to work on, by the way, it sounds like a fun habit to get into." The mere idea of having Guillaume at his side every morning when he woke was almost too fantastic to think about.

"We'll just have to do our best, then," Guillaume whispered and scooted closer, looking for the reassurance of physical contact just as much as Amedeo himself. "Do you want to try and go back to sleep?"

Amedeo shot him a wicked smile, his hand suggestively trailing down along his chest before dipping lower, quick enough to cause a quiet, surprised gasp in response. "Actually, I think I'd like to see if I can't wake you up a bit more."

He'd almost forgotten how much fun it was to coax small reactions out of his lover. A swift touch to the sensitive spot at his side to bring out a low moan, the slow caress up his inner thigh that never failed to make him draw a sharp breath, the light stroke of fingertips along his spine to cause him to shiver. This was what Amedeo had missed, the easy intimacy between them along with the way there always was something new to discover. Like the fact that if he nibbled at Guillaume's throat in just the right place, his lover would be far too distracted to worry about love bites in an almost-visible location.

"Amedeo...." _Almost_ distracted enough, at least, if Guillaume could still muster the energy for a faint protest. He wasn't, however, doing anything to move away.

"Wear a scarf tomorrow," Amedeo smirked but couldn't manage more than a teasing lick across the mark he'd raised before Guillaume pulled him up and his mouth was captured in a deep kiss that momentarily made him forget about all other intentions.

"Stop that," Guillaume ordered, seizing his wrist in a firm grip before he could attempt to distract him again.

Amedeo nipped sharply at his lower lip. "Make me," he shot back.

There was a lot to be said for improvisation, he absently mused a minute later, a delicious shudder chasing down his spine at the tug of Guillaume's belt looped around his wrists. He yearned to reach out, but all he could do was arch his back and moan with pleasure under his lover's ministrations. He hadn't expected this tonight, not when it always took a bit of determination to convince Guillaume to play, and that made it even better.

"All right?" his lover whispered, watching him closely, one hand pinning his bound wrists to the bed above his head, the other slowly stroking up along his flank and across his chest, the contact far too light and teasing.

Amedeo nodded in response, then strained up to close the distance between them; after a moment Guillaume gave in and they were kissing once more, tongues playing, and it was almost too much when he'd been starved for touch for far too long. This was _right_ , he thought, shared pleasure and trust and sheer enjoyment of each other. Then Guillaume's hand slid down between them, his fingers wet with lube, and Amedeo stopped thinking altogether and let the sensations take over as they moved together.

He was still struggling for coherence and breath when Guillaume freed him, cool fingers running across the lines the leather had left on his skin, followed by the gentle brush of lips against his pulse points.

"You're mad," Guillaume told him, his eyes dark in the faint light.

Amedeo threw him an impish smile. "Maybe. But admit it, you love it." He nestled closer, catching Guillaume's thigh between his own as he made himself comfortable.

"Maybe," his lover echoed and drew him in, an arm slung low around his waist. They didn't usually sleep quite this entangled in each other, but right now Amedeo was loath to let any distance slip between them, and it seemed as if Guillaume shared that sentiment.

***

The one bit of news Amedeo was waiting for was the wedding announcement of Prince William of Wales and Prince Carl Philip of Sweden. That they would end up in a marriage was an absolute certainty (which seemed to have dawned on most people by now), and since they'd already been the first ones to even make the world aware of the possibility of officially gay royalty, Amedeo and Guillaume had long decided to also let them be the first to tie the knot.

For utterly selfless reasons, of course, and not because neither of them fancied the sort of public attention they'd receive themselves if they went ahead with their own plans. It really was just logical - the world would go mad over Prince William, no matter whether he was the first or the second prince to do this. But in the case of Guillaume and Amedeo, it would make a huge difference if they already had another wedded couple to point to.

When the news finally came, Amedeo was comfortably curled up against Guillaume on the sofa, the TV on mute so he wouldn't wake his lover from a well-deserved nap while he idly zapped through the channels. They'd met up in Brussels this time when a few convenient coincidences had left Amedeo with a chance at an empty house; practical since it saved Guillaume from having yet another jet-lagged start into his work week.

The breaking news alert caught his attention, and he sat up straight when he caught the headline.

"Guillaume," he said, reaching to gently shake his lover's shoulder. "Come on, love, wake up."

A quiet grumble, then Guillaume stirred and sleepily glanced up at him. "Mhm?"

Amedeo bent down for a light kiss. "Hey," he said, his attention momentarily divided between his lover and the newscast.

Guillaume blinked, then gave him a rueful look. "Don't tell me you're that insatiable. You know, I'm really not sure I'm up for this again already."

Amedeo had to laugh. "Me neither, don't worry, but just look. You need to see this."

Together they watched the press announcement, Amedeo's hand tightly clasped in Guillaume's as they followed the preliminary speech of the Clarence House spokeswoman about already known facts and figures regarding those two. There wasn't anything new that Amedeo didn't know already from either articles in the paper or discussions among his family; they'd debated the legal ramifications of the situation ad nauseam at every opportunity. That there _weren't_ all that many potential problems for two married princes from that direction would have been a lot more heartening to hear if Amedeo hadn't received confirmation at the same time that he couldn't count on a favourable reaction at home.

There was a brief break in the announcement, then the two main protagonists came into view, dressed to the nines. Someone obviously had taken the time to make sure Carl Philip looked perfectly presentable; Amedeo had been at several royal get-togethers by now where good-natured little betting pools had been started on whether he'd keep his bow tie straight and the sash of his order unwrinkled beyond the first thirty minutes. Everybody looked a little scruffy now and then, but Carl Philip tended to manage it a lot more often than most.

The two princes repeated their announcement, to the obvious disbelief of the assembled reporters, then went on to talk about their past few years together and their official plans for the future. Or rather, William talked; Carl Philip barely answered a few questions and generally looked like the only thing that was keeping him in his chair was William's hand holding on to his own.

"I'm just realising that we'll have to do that as well," Guillaume said once the press conference was over and the programme switched to a commentator to repeat the main points.

Amedeo nodded and reached for the remote to turn off the TV. "Let's just hope we don't end up as a live broadcast on CNN, too. That's not something I need as an achievement in my life."

"We aren't _that_ interesting, surely." Guillaume didn't sound entirely convinced, but Amedeo was grateful nonetheless for the statement. He shifted closer, his head pillowed on Guillaume's shoulder and they looked at each other, their hands still joined.

"So..." Amedeo said eventually, carefully picking his words. "That gives us a timetable, doesn't it?"

"It does," Guillaume agreed after a moment of hesitation that ran just a fraction too long. "If we're still going to go ahead with all."

Amedeo stilled at that. They hadn't really discussed plans for the future lately, mostly because it had seemed such a futile exercise until they knew when they'd be putting any of it into motion. It hadn't occurred to him that there could be another reason for that lack of forward planning, and that this change might bring it to a head.

"You're not breaking up with me, are you?" he asked, trying to sound nonchalant and failing miserably at it.

Guillaume stared at him. "I... what? Of course not! I just meant that we don't have to actually get married, we could just continue like we're doing right now."

"You did say yes," Amedeo pointed out carefully, a little reassured but not completely certain what to make of this. "Do you still want to?"

"Of course I do. I'm not about to change my mind now that we're actually getting somewhere. Really, I was beginning to think William and Carl Philip would never manage to finalise their plans." Guillaume hesitated once more before he asked, "You didn't change your mind either, did you?"

"No, I'm keeping you," Amedeo told him, raising his head to look him firmly in the eye and make him see the conviction at this response. "Sorry, you're not getting out of this."

"Like I said, it's not as if I want to." Guillaume leaned in for a quick kiss, then pulled back again before Amedeo could try to turn it into a little more. "Behave, you. We need to think this through."

"It's not like we can't think and do other things at the same time," Amedeo countered, but decided to play nice and obey. "Well, we know we can't go ahead with anything on the official side before their wedding, so that moves a number of things beyond next September."

They might need a year to work up the nerve for it, too. It all sounded nice in theory, but putting it all into practise felt a little daunting. There were so many expectations riding on the two of them, rearranging it all would take a major effort.

"There's plenty to do before that," Guillaume said. "Telling our families, for one thing."

And that was the real issue Amedeo had wanted to avoid for as long as possible.

"Perhaps it's better to wait with that until after the British wedding, too? Then at least they'll see that William and Carl Philip haven't been struck down by lightning and that there aren't any riots in the streets about it."

The look Guillaume gave him was far too knowing. "You truly think it's going to go that badly?"

Amedeo pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing in frustration. "With your family, I guess not. With mine... I don't know. Maybe I'm overestimating it all. But I'm honestly not too keen on finding out any sooner than I have to."

It was a constant temptation to avoid it altogether, but he knew that wouldn't work, and also that it wouldn't make him happy in the long run. If he wanted to have a relationship with Guillaume that didn't rely on airplanes almost as much as their feelings for each other, they had to take this step. Still, even knowing that didn't make it any less disheartening.

"I'm not going to push you with this," Guillaume said in that maddeningly reasonable tone of voice he sometimes managed. "You know the situation a lot better than I do. If you want to wait for us to tell people, then we'll do that, because I can't imagine my parents will want to stay quiet about it once they find out. At the very least, they'll want to speak to yours."

"Yes, so let's wait with that and then break the news to them at the same time. At the very least it's going to save us from miscommunications that way." Amedeo shifted and drew up one leg underneath himself so he faced Guillaume. "Do you want to go for a walk? I could use the fresh air."

It was one of the advantages of Laeken - the park around the royal residences was private and while it wasn't unobserved, not with all the gardeners and groundskeepers around, it was possible to talk without being bothered or overheard. Amedeo had always thought better on his feet, and it also was a rare thrill to do something so normal with Guillaume. In New York they could be fairly open with each other in public, but in Belgium, let alone Luxembourg, Amedeo was too concerned about potential attention to feel at ease about being seen with his lover outside of an official occasion, no matter whether they behaved just like friends.

The walk helped to settle him, and by the time they'd completed the first round past the greenhouses and the lake, then to the main palace and back, a few more decisions had been made.

One of those decisions came into play later that evening, once Amedeo managed to hunt down his uncle. Philippe wasn't formally the person to talk to about this, but he was going to be a lot easier than the King, and Amedeo had no interest to make his life any more complicated than necessary right now. And as Crown Prince of Belgium, his uncle had enough influence of his own to move matters along for Amedeo if he could be convinced to do so.

In the end, it simply came down to calling in favours; Amedeo's fifteen years as semi-official heir, with all the complications in his life that had entailed, in exchange for support now that he'd found a whole new way to make his life difficult.

"I want to start doing official duties on behalf of Grandfather," he told Philippe over a shared beer in his uncle's study that evening after he'd requested a talk once Guillaume was on the way back to Luxembourg.

To his credit, Philippe neither started to laugh nor looked overly concerned. He merely seemed a bit puzzled. "Why?"

Amedeo searched for the right way to put it, then decided to simply forge straight ahead. Philippe had never appreciated evasiveness. "Because I'll be quitting my job in New York in the coming months and I need something to do in Belgium." There was no point in obfuscating those facts; it wasn't as if the family wouldn't find out about it, and Amedeo figured it would make his life a lot easier if he was straightforward about this. He had always been on good terms with Philippe, and he was glad now that he'd worked on keeping up that relationship.

Philippe lifted his glass, swallowed, then asked, "Do I want to know what you're up to?"

"Probably not in detail," Amedeo told him honestly. "But I'm going to need some goodwill on this one, and it's going to help a lot if I can build a bit of a reputation as a proper working royal. And look at it like this, you can use another hand, can't you? Now that Grandfather is slowing down, you've got to redistribute all those duties, and they're going to end up either on your desk or Mother's. You don't really want Uncle Laurent to take on more than what's absolutely unavoidable, do you?"

The look on Philippe's face was faintly amused. "You don't need to sell me on it, Amedeo. There's more than enough work to go around, so if you want a share of that you're welcome to it. Does Astrid know about this yet?"

"No," Amedeo admitted. His mother would be delighted about him coming home, he knew, but he was worried about the questions she and his father would ask. He could hardly tell them that he was quitting because he needed to practise at being a working royal at home in Belgium so he'd present a good picture to the future in-laws in Luxembourg, with the side effect of being able to meet up with his lover without having to cross an ocean first.

Philippe had another mouthful of beer. "Go tell her about it, then let me know. And whatever you're about to do, I don't want to be told as long as it isn't going to cause any official trouble. I need plausible deniability towards Astrid once it blows up."

***

Philippe kept up his side of the bargain: within a month Amedeo had the first suggestions for official appointments on his desk, and once he agreed, the court went ahead and made use of their new resource so that by Christmas he was performing his first regular tasks as Prince Amedeo of Belgium. Belgian working royals were in short supply these days, and Amedeo couldn't help suspecting that he'd saved his uncle from eventually having to ask him to come back and do his duty. They'd let him get away once he hadn't been needed as a potential heir anymore, first to London for his university degree - though he'd presented them with a fait accompli in that case - and then to New York to build his career, but there had always been the unspoken awareness that it was only possible as long as the circumstances were favourable.

His mother was delighted at his change of mind, of course. Finally her eldest was letting go of those silly notions of wanting to work a normal job (she blamed his father, Amedeo knew, since he, too, was doing just that despite being an Imperial and Royal Highness) and performed according to his birthright. In her eyes, a Prince of Belgium was supposed to be exactly that: a prince who did his duty for his country, and having her son finally come to his senses obviously was a high point for her this year. Amedeo didn't think she'd been quite this helpful and open towards him ever since he'd first mentioned that he was considering a real job.

A job he was gradually letting go now that he had to rearrange his priorities, and he wished it could be otherwise. He'd worked hard on being employed on his merits rather than his title, and now that he'd finally managed, he was slipping away again. It felt disloyal, in a way, and he was doing the best he could to make the transition run smoothly. A few more months in New York wouldn't hurt while he slowly shifted life, priorities and furniture back towards Europe. At the very least it helped to have an apartment in a city where neither his nor Guillaume's parents were likely to intrude on them with more than an ill-timed phone call.

On the whole, the staff at the royal offices started him off easy. A handful of charity events to attend and hold a little speech, an exhibition or two to open, the occasional congratulation on a new business venture or an award. Nothing where he could commit any major blunders while he found his feet in this new world, but a good way for him to get used to the attention and for them to evaluate his abilities. By the end of the first month, he was an expert in ribbon cutting (which was harder than it looked, because those scissors tended to be far too blunt) and had a default speech down pat. Coming from a work background where saying nothing in a lot of words had been essential certainly helped with that.

Partnered events were trickier to handle. His mother took him along on a few of her own appointments before letting him loose on unsuspecting wives of visiting politicians, who tended to be a bit confused at suddenly having him as a tour guide for their ladies' programme. The main pitfall was protocol; Amedeo knew how to behave as a minor royal and part of an entourage, but he'd never had to deal with actually hosting something by himself and all the intricacies attached to that. Fortunately the ladies tended to be pros at it and simply dragged him along and shoved him into place whenever he took a wrong turn somewhere.

"You're supposed to be a step or two ahead of me," Princess Máxima told him in a well-aimed whisper while he showed her the newly arranged Bruegel exhibition at the Museum of Fine Arts.

Amedeo hesitated, then took a quick step forward and did his best to stay there. He'd assumed he was escorting, but apparently it was guiding he was supposed to do. "Thanks," he whispered back. "And sorry."

"Don't worry, you're doing fine." Máxima was his first royal appointment, to be entertained while her husband met with Philippe for talks on a new environmental project. Mathilde had been scheduled initially but when she'd had to cancel, Amedeo had been the only one available and so the court had tossed him in at the deep end to see whether he'd swim.

Right now he felt like he was more splashing than floating, but at least he didn't think he was drowning just yet. He just wished he remembered a few more facts about Bruegel, because reading out the little descriptions next to the paintings probably wasn't how he was supposed to go about this. But it had been ten years since he'd last had anything to do with sixteenth century Flemish painters, and there hadn't been any time to cram some facts this morning.

"Just remember you're hosting," Máxima said a little later, when they had a few unobserved minutes in the car. "Pretend I have no idea where I should go or what might be interesting, and simply say whatever comes to mind and sounds like it might be clever. That usually does the trick."

"It would be easier if I knew what exactly we're doing today," Amedeo admitted, his energy starting to flag by now. "They shoved me into a suit this morning and then ordered me to entertain you. Ah, I hope you're feeling entertained, actually."

"I'm certainly feeling amused," Máxima said, a wide grin on her face. "What's next?"

He had to think for a moment. "The Grand Place, I think. A walk across it, or at least that's what they told me to do." Which was going to be interesting less for the facts and more because he hadn't had any chance to brush up on his touristical knowledge either and didn't think that 'look over there, an old building, and here's another one' was going to cut it.

"Well, then we'll walk." The Dutch Crown Princess gave him a sympathetic look. "You'll figure it out, and you aren't doing too badly for a beginner. Keep it up for another hour or so, then we should be done with it."

So much for being the one in charge of this visit, Amedeo thought. Máxima was used to keeping Willem Alexander in line; a green princeling probably didn't even present a challenge worth mentioning.

He survived the rest of the day, mostly by clinging to the pretence of knowing what he was doing (accompanied by well-aimed prompts from Máxima, who was kind enough to act as though she hadn't begun to essentially host herself). By the time he was able to hand her back to her husband, he was ready to drop dead with tense exhaustion.

"I have no idea how you do this," he told Guillaume a week later when they next had a chance to meet, if only for an afternoon before his lover had to travel onwards to Madrid for trade talks the same day. That Guillaume flew out of Brussels for this one was a convenient excuse, even if it only gave them a few hours. Enough for lunch and a pleasant walk together, though, those parts of a regular relationship which too often fell by the wayside for them.

His lover had been the perfect mentor for him these past weeks, calm and reassuring whenever Amedeo had hit a new obstacle and hadn't been able to puzzle out a solution to it by himself. People weren't supposed to turn into a working royal at his age, at least not like this. Anyone doing this job either grew up with it and knew how it worked, or was put through princess classes like all the non-royal spouses. Amedeo had found himself in the peculiar predicament that he'd had the beginnings of the training for a working royal, but had been pulled out in the middle of it once his cousins had been born and positioned safely between him and the throne. So people expected him to know what he was on about, and there wasn't anyone to officially explain the details.

"It's a matter of practise, for the most part," Guillaume said, smiling when Amedeo held the door open for him as they left the restaurant and stepped out into the icy winter day. "Like this just now, you'd have gotten the entire lunch right in terms of correct behaviour if it had been a formal visit, and you're doing it automatically."

"That's just a matter of manners." With a shake of his head, Amedeo caught up with him again in two quick steps. "I don't even want to think about how protocol works for the two of us right now in terms of who outranks whom and who's supposed to do what."

"For now that depends on which country we're in, for one thing, then whether one of us is the official host or someone else. It's also a matter of a solitary visit compared to one of a full delegation." Guillaume paused in his explanation while he waited for Amedeo to choose their direction, then continued. "But that's why you've got chiefs of protocol, they're the ones to figure this out when you're the host. And if you're off on a state visit yourself, why, Your Imperial and Royal Highness, you outrank everyone except for reigning monarchs right now, even us lowly heirs apparent."

"With preparation, I can see how it works, but when it's down to improvising it's a different story altogether," Amedeo said, not bothering to mask the slight frustration he felt whenever he pondered the issue. "I can't just stop and ask, after all. Habit gets in the way, too, I'm used to not being in charge, so I constantly have to remind myself. Máxima practically ran off with me."

Guillaume laughed at that, his breath visible as little puffs in the chilly air. "She does that with everyone, actually. Even Paps has given up on keeping her in check." They had to stop at a red traffic light, and he turned towards Amedeo. "Don't push yourself that hard. You've only just started with it, nobody expects you to be perfect immediately when you have never really played these roles before."

Aside from himself, Amedeo thought a little sourly. "It's not other people's expectations that worry me," he said. "I know they're not setting the bar very high for now. But I don't like making mistakes in this."

The light turned green, and Guillaume only spoke when they were on the other side of the street and heading into the narrow alleys of the old town centre where they didn't have to watch out for cars. "At the risk of sounding like a fortune cookie, everybody makes mistakes. You're figuring it all out, so stop worrying about it."

Stuffing his hands into his coat pockets to keep them warm, Amedeo sighed quietly. "It matters that I get this right," he said. "It matters to _me_. There's going to be plenty of scrutiny on us once we make our relationship official, and I don't want to have to deal with figuring out how to be a working royal on top of it." And even more, he didn't want to let Guillaume down and give anyone even the slightest reason to doubt them.

With a touch to his arm, Guillaume made him step into a side street, out of the pedestrian flow. "Is that what this is about?" he asked once they were alone and unlikely to be overheard, though Amedeo didn't think anyone would have recognised them anyway, bundled into their winter coats and scarves as they were. "Don't tell me you're trying to turn yourself into the perfect prince consort in a crash course."

Amedeo met his eyes. "It's for the best," he said, very reasonably.

"Not if you'll spend the next months fretting over whether you got protocol right, or made the right speech, or," Guillaume gestured a little vaguely, "or handed over an award in the right way."

"I'm not fretting," Amedeo protested, "I'm asking for your advice, because you've been doing this a lot longer. There's a difference."

"You just spent half an hour discussing how to deal with a state visit," Guillaume pointed out. "That's not something you usually do. And you keep circling back to these issues whenever we talk these days, in case you haven't noticed. I'm not saying you shouldn't think about them, but, Amedeo, you're exaggerating with your perfectionism. Quite badly."

Amedeo hunched his shoulders against the cold and wished they had privacy so he could snuggle up to Guillaume, who looked wonderfully warm in his thick coat. Winter, definitely not his favourite time of the year. "I just wish I'd started with this earlier," he said. "I thought this would be easier, or I'd not have waited for so long with taking on my share of duties."

"More than your share, I'd say," Guillaume commented, and Amedeo glared at him for that little bit of truth he hadn't wanted to get out. "I'll be happy to help you in whatever way I can, and I'm sure Philippe and your mother will do the same. But stop putting so much pressure on yourself. At the very least, it's not going to make you perform any better."

He sighed softly. "Point taken," he conceded. Guillaume was right about it, he knew, but it wasn't an awareness that sat well with him. This whole matter wasn't going according to his internal schedule; with only a few months left to learn and so much still to work out, time was getting away from him on this.

"Promise you'll ease up a little?"

Holding Guillaume's gaze was more difficult than it should have been. "I promise."

Guillaume gave him a searching look, then nodded. "Thank you," he said. "And now come on, let's see if we can't enjoy the rest of the day without debating protocol."

Amedeo saluted him, then executed a picture-perfect bow. "As you wish, Your Royal Highness," he said in the most demure tone of voice he could manage, then gave an undignified squawk and ducked when Guillaume aimed a mock swat at him.

***

One of the things Amedeo was going to miss about New York was the privacy and independence it offered. Here, nobody cared whether he spent a well-deserved day in bed with his lover to recover after two weeks of almost non-stop work from sunrise to sunset. They'd have to get up eventually, if only to pick up dinner, but for now Amedeo was perfectly content to simply enjoy the feeling of Guillaume's fingers slowly carding through his hair as they dozed together on top of the tangled sheets.

It might be their last day together in this place, he idly thought, tucking his head under Guillaume's chin and making himself comfortable. Guillaume would fly back tomorrow and he'd follow soon; three weeks in Europe for both of them after that before the British wedding would keep them occupied for another few days. And then they'd have to pick an opportune moment for their own announcement. Once they'd managed to tell their families, that was, a task Amedeo dreaded more and more the closer it came.

"Stop thinking, will you?" Guillaume told him. "You're tensing up again, and that when I've just worked so hard to get you to relax."

He certainly had, Amedeo mused, still caught up in the last tendrils of contented post-coital laziness. "Already stopping," he murmured, turning his head to press an idle kiss against that sensitive spot on Guillaume's neck. Then another, while he was at it. And a teasing lick surely couldn't hurt either.

The hand in his hair briefly stilled, then the caresses picked up again. "I've learned my lesson, you know?" his lover said with obvious amusement in his voice. "And packed a shirt with a high collar for the flight back. You're not sending me on the way with love bites on open display again this time."

Amedeo twisted to smirk up at him. "Pity," he said. "It's far more satisfying to make sure everyone knows you're taken." He stretched slowly, then shifted so they could look at each other more easily. "Does that mean I'll have to come up with some new way to mark you as mine when we're in London?"

Again Guillaume stopped his petting, and this time it didn't resume. "London?"

"The wedding. William and Carl Philip." Amedeo frowned at him. "Surely that hasn't slipped your mind?"

Guillaume sighed. "The wedding is in Windsor Castle, not in London. And I'm not going."

Amedeo blinked, not certain he'd heard right. "What do you mean, you aren't going?" he asked. "Of course you're going. In case you haven't noticed, they're the first gay royal couple to get married. It’s a matter of simple common sense for us to be there.”

"Not if I haven't been invited." Again Guillaume sighed, his chest rising under Amedeo's cheek. "Seems that Carl Philip still isn't quite over our misunderstanding."

"Oh, for... I thought you talked to William?" Amedeo wanted to know.

Why was this coming up again? He'd thought these matters had been resolved long ago already, or he'd have kept an eye on them. Support and backing from William and Carl Philip was something they couldn't afford not to have. Those two were the pioneers in this; Amedeo held a healthy respect for what they were doing, and he didn't intend to necessarily fight all the same battles they'd already faced. Someone had to be the first, and he admittedly was glad it wasn't him and Guillaume.

"I did, and he told me to expect this. Everything is well between him and me, don't worry about that. It's just Carl Philip who has a few difficulties with my presence, and since this is their wedding..." Guillaume shrugged. "It's his right."

"Of course it is, but..." Amedeo trailed off, trying marshal his thoughts. This really wasn't something to interpret and analyse with endorphins still buzzing happily in his mind.

"You've talked to William, you even tried to apologise to Carl Philip. You deserve to go." And he wanted Guillaume to be there with him, even if they couldn't officially appear as a couple. It would have been a signal, for themselves as well as, in hindsight, for William and Carl Philip.

"You'll just have to do the representing for both of us," Guillaume said, his hand briefly tightening at the nape of Amedeo's neck before withdrawing. "With all the practise you had over the past months, you'll be perfect."

Possibly, especially in light of all the feedback Amedeo had received from Guillaume after the handful of joint events they'd worked on. By now he was getting the hang of being a working royal, and was more convinced than ever that anyone who thought it was easy to do this job had no idea how physically and mentally exhausting it could be.

"I'd much rather do this with you by my side, we're good as a team," he told Guillaume, pushing himself up and forward so he could catch him in a brief kiss. "We really need to make sure that this gets settled, and soon. And not just for our sake, either. It's not like Carl Philip's going to be able to avoid you forever, especially once we're out as well. You can bet we'll be thrown together on a regular basis."

Guillaume nodded in agreement. "We'll figure it out," he said. "I've got no idea why he's still keeping his distance so much, but I guess I'd better find out once an opportunity presents itself."

"You do have an effect on people," Amedeo said, winking at him before leaning in for another kiss. "I can personally vouch for that. Only I definitely don't want to get away from you."

"Is that so?" Guillaume asked, an amused glint in his eyes.

"Fishing for compliments again, are you?" Amedeo teased and pulled him forward a little so they were side by side, comfortable for slow kisses and caresses until they were up for anything more energetic once more.

***

As royal weddings went, Amedeo had never been to one that was quite as entertaining as that of William and Carl Philip. The sheer novelty factor aside, the guest selection was subtly different from that of a normal celebration once the official part was over and the reception came around. Practically everyone who'd been invited to this - or rather, who'd chosen to answer the invitations - was in favour of the match, which was more than what could usually be expected. Amedeo was accustomed to overhearing a fair amount of verbal backstabbing and character assassination of either the bride or the groom from various relatives (and some physical backstabbing when it came to weddings on the Savoy side of the family), but this time that seemed to be missing entirely. People had far more interesting things to gossip about right now, after all.

He'd have to share that particular observation with Guillaume once they saw each other again. That his lover wasn't here still didn't sit well with Amedeo, but he'd let himself be convinced that it wasn't as problematic as it might look. He'd been there when Guillaume had called William a few days before the wedding to offer his congratulations, and that call certainly hadn't sounded as though there still was trouble between the two of them. For now, that would have to do.

"There you are!"

Turning around, Amedeo had barely time to brace himself before Theodora descended upon him, and for once he had to admit that Guillaume might have a point in comparing her to a valkyrie on occasion.

"Theodora, my dear," he greeted her, a smile on his face to tide him over until he knew what to make of her. She was the one person in this room to know about him and Guillaume, a fact that made Amedeo treat her with plenty of caution for now.

"Don't you 'my dear' me," she told him, though it fortunately didn't sound as though he was in any imminent danger. "You stole my boyfriend."

He couldn't help smirking. "Fictional boyfriend," he corrected. "He's been all mine from the start, I just let you borrow him on occasion."

Theodora rested a hand against her - fairly impressive, Amedeo had to admit - décolleté and sighed dramatically. "I shall have to overcome this boundless cruelty somehow and plot revenge."

"I'd rather you don't," Amedeo said wryly. "Or we can't invite you to the wedding, and that would be a shame. It's so much more fun with you."

"As if Guillaume would dare to leave me out." She reached up to tuck a loose strand of blond hair behind her ear, then frowned at him. "You do owe me, you two. I had to tell my mother last week that I broke up with Guillaume."

The idea was just... "Sad to hear it didn't work out between the two of you," Amedeo told her with the most sincere expression on his face he could muster.

"Very sad, it's sent Mama into a frenzy again over finding me a husband. She's been watching me for the past hour already to see whether I'm talking to any suitable young men. Look behind you if you don't believe me."

Turning casually, Amedeo carefully scanned the room for the former Queen of the Hellenes and discovered that Theodora might have a point. Queen Anne-Marie, between chatting with a group of elderly ladies over by the high windows on the other side of the reception hall, was looking in their direction every few seconds in a rather less than unobtrusive way.

"See?" Theodora asked. "If I don't snatch myself a husband tonight, I'll have to live through an interrogation tomorrow at breakfast about why I scare them all off."

Amedeo tilted his head. "Is she looking right now?"

"Yes, why?"

"Because you are right, Guillaume and I do owe you, so I'm going to make sure you can have your coffee in peace," he told her, and before he could think better of it he leaned in to kiss her, careful to balance it between looking convincing and not going so far as to offend her.

He didn't need to worry about the latter, he found out a moment later when he suddenly had an armful of blond princess snuggling close to give him a proper kiss that was only slightly spoiled by the fact that she couldn't quite keep from giggling.

"That should do it," she said, sounding highly satisfied when they broke apart again. "Thanks. If Guillaume gives you any trouble over this, refer him to me. I'll tell him it was a selfless act from your side to defend my sanity."

"Very kind of you, he'd have my head if you told him anything else." Amedeo was sure Guillaume wasn't going to mind, or he wouldn't even have considered it. But he'd have to make certain nonetheless to be the first one to mention this little intermezzo to his lover.

Theodora patted his arm. "That would be a shame, it's a pretty head."

"Was it enough to convince your mother, do you think?"

Theodora glanced over his shoulder. "She's given up even pretending not to be staring at us, so I'd say so. What a pity it won't last, though... do you know yet when you're going to tie the knot?"

"We thought a May wedding would be nice," he said, then wished he'd been a bit more quiet when Princess Madeleine of Sweden shot him a sharp look as she walked by.

"May? Good choice. And you're lucky, I don't think anyone else has scheduled something important for that month yet. But you'd better hurry and make it official so you don't have to compete with anyone for the wedding guests. Have you figured out yet when you'll announce it?"

Amedeo's good mood faded a little as he was once more reminded of that particular matter. "We'll have to tell our parents first, but after that we aren't planning on waiting long. Before the winter, if everything goes well."

The expression on Theodora's face turned sympathetic. "You'll manage, I'm sure," she said firmly and gave him a peck on the cheek that didn't feel as though it was solely for her mother's benefit. "You make far too cute a couple not to."

Amedeo raised an eyebrow at her. "You've never actually seen us together, have you?"

"No, but I have a vivid imagination," she said, winking at him, then she suddenly straightened. "Shh, don't turn around, but your future father-in-law is coming."

That was something Amedeo had hoped to be able to avoid ever since he'd heard that Guillaume's parents would be the ones representing Luxembourg for this wedding. A very good sign, of course, if they had no problems attending, and Amedeo had chalked it up as a mark in their favour. On the other hand, however, it also meant that he might run into the father and mother of his lover, who didn't know yet just what he was doing with their son.

"I'm not interrupting something between you two, am I?" Grand Duke Henri asked, stopping by Theodora's side with an amiable look on his face.

And of course it also meant that Amedeo ought to be on his very best behaviour and not share friendly kisses with anyone, no matter how selfless the intentions behind it.

Thankfully, Theodora saved him from that little blunder. "Amedeo has merely helped me with a bit of subterfuge," she assured Henri. "To assist me in reassuring my mother that I will not end as a spinster."

That was a little more direct than Amedeo would have chosen to be; still, it made Henri laugh, so blunt obviously was the right choice.

"If I'd known you needed that sort of help, I'd have brought Guillaume along," he told Theodora. "You and he are getting along well, from all I hear."

Amedeo fought the urge to bang his head against the nearest wall. That little make-believe relationship between Guillaume and Theodora had been highly amusing - and highly convenient - for years, but now he was starting to see the drawbacks. If Henri still thought there was any point in singing Guillaume's praises in front of Theodora as a potential consort... They really needed to make a move, and soon.

He excused himself as fast as he could without being actually impolite, then wandered off into the safest-looking direction (the one with the fewest relatives, the highest density of waitstaff with well-filled trays with drinks, and the lowest average age of the surrounding people). Stopping here and there for a brief exchange, he quickly managed to slip into a mingling-friendly mindset.

“Trying to seduce my sister, are you?” Philippos asked when Amedeo paused by his side for a quick greeting.

“I wouldn’t dare,” Amedeo assured him with a wink. “It would take a braver man than me for that. Besides, she’s not someone to sit around and wait.”

They both glanced to where Theodora was still talking to Henri, and Philippos hummed in agreement. “Just be careful, she’s on the rebound from Guillaume.”

Amedeo made a valiant effort not to choke on his wine at the comment. “I’ll take care that she doesn’t drag me off into a closet.”

Cocking his head, Philippos seemed to weigh the risk of that ever occurring, then nodded decisively. “Better do that. You make a nice target, after all.”

It was impossible not to hear the flirting behind that, but Amedeo just shook his head. “Sorry. Taken.”

Philippos glanced at him. “Pity,” he said. “No chance for a bit of fun?”

“ _Really_ taken.” And not at all interested in rekindling an intermezzo from years ago, which had been fun at the time, but never anywhere near serious, something they both were well aware of.

“Congratulations in that case.” Philippos raised his glass to Amedeo in a toast, his expression genuinely pleased. “Anyone I know?”

Amedeo hesitated. “Yes, and I’m not telling,” he said after a moment. “You’ll just have to wait until we’re official.”

Philippos shot him a ready smile and left it at that, willing to abandon the topic for more innocent gossip. He’d always been easy to get along with, and their bit of fun together hadn’t had any lasting impact. Still, Amedeo wasn’t about to mention that to Guillaume, even though it had been well before their first kiss. It would just lead to unnecessary misunderstandings.

After a few minutes, Philippos was dragged off by Theodora, a sharp command in Greek on her lips that had him snap to attention and follow his sister when she made for a group of their Danish cousins. Amedeo watched them go, then continued his own meanderings.

"Have you warmed up to football yet?" he asked when he found himself next to Princess Alexandra - or Princess Henry, to be exact, and he'd never understand the insistence on such odd naming conventions.

She laughed. "I haven't needed to, fortunately. And now that there are three princes to take care of all sports-related events, I hope that won't change. How are you? We haven't seen you for a while."

"That might change from now on," he said. "I've decided to be a good prince and actually act like it."

The little duchess gave him an amused look. "As long as you're just acting and not taking it too seriously, otherwise it's just going to be boring."

She'd know about that with Harry for a husband, Amedeo thought but didn't say it out loud. "I heard you're going back to your job?" he asked instead.

"I wish that were the case," Alex sighed. "I'll finish my degree next month, but after that I'll have to see what I can actually do with it. In London there's simply no way to use it, not when they make me take security along all the time. You can't be a surgeon when two armed guards are ready to shoot your patient at the first move."

Amedeo nodded. "I ran into the same; royal representative work and an actual job at the side just don't go well together. The schedules alone..."

"Impossible, I know," Alex said, clearly commiserating. "I'm looking into charity; there might be a way to use my training with Harry's projects in Africa, but so far they're not telling me whether it's possible. I'll have to step on a few more toes first, it seems."

From what Amedeo had heard, results were guaranteed once this particular dainty-footed princess indulged in some deliberate and targeted toe-stepping. Alex might look like a perfectly harmless young woman - especially when she stood next to Harry and he wore his devil-may-care expression - but there was a spine of steel hidden behind that cute little exterior. For some reason, people tended to forget that this was the woman who'd successfully tamed England's wild child prince. Amedeo was absolutely certain she hadn't done that just with carrots, but also with liberal applications of the stick.

He chatted a little more with her, then was about to see whether he couldn't find something to eat when he got snatched up by Madeleine, who dragged him off onto the dance floor without waiting for him to agree, let alone do it properly and invite her in turn.

"What's this about you getting married?" she asked without preamble as soon as they were turning and spinning and unlikely to be overheard.

Amedeo briefly debated with himself whether he could wriggle his way out of this somehow, then saw the determined look in her eyes and resigned. "It's not finalised yet," he said. "We've still got to deal with all the formalities. And the official issues, too."

"Ah, yes, the joy of having to ask permission from parliament. That was fun." Madeleine shook her head, probably in memory of her own wedding arrangements. "Who is the lucky girl?"

The innocent question left him inwardly wincing. Of course she wouldn't know; he had never done anything to give the people on the royal circuit any ideas as to his preferences. Not that anyone there had ever needed to know anyway; he was aware that there'd been the occasional rumour among the younger crowd, mostly because no-one had ever seen him with a girlfriend, but that was it.

"Don't take this the wrong way," he said carefully, "But you're not on top of my list of people to tell about this right now. That would be my family at the moment."

Madeleine's expression changed from curious to sympathetic. "Do they at least know her?"

Well, the wrong pronoun aside... "Yes, actually." Of course they knew Guillaume, they'd known him for all his life already. And so far they'd liked him well enough; the question was just how they'd take the news that Amedeo was no longer just playing in the sandbox with him.

She gave him an encouraging pat on the arm. "Then it won't be that bad. And once you have your parents' permission, parliament surely can't be that tricky either. Do both of you need to ask, or just you?"

He had to smile at the less than subtle attempt to find out more. "Both of us," he told her, and saw her trying to figure it out. There was a limited number of people who fell under that particular restriction, after all, and only a handful of them were in the relevant age range.

"Everyone I can think of is absolutely outrageous," Madde said eventually, an mischievous gleam in her eyes. "Should I wish you good luck now or wait until you make your announcement?"

"I'll take all the well-wishing I can get," he admitted. "Ah, Madeleine... we aren't official in any way about this yet. We haven't even hinted to our parents that we're in a relationship. So... please be quiet about it?"

She frowned at him. "Why wouldn't you do that?" she asked. "And of course I'll stay quiet, don't worry. Though you may want to warn Andrea, I've mentioned that it seems you're finally getting serious with someone. I'm sorry, I didn't think you were still that secretive about it, since Theodora seemed to know all about it." She looked at him sharply. "It's not Theodora, right?"

The sheer absurdity was enough to startle him into a laugh. "God beware, no. I'm not brave enough for that. But she's been involved in it for a while, in a roundabout way, and she has been the test balloon to see what sort of reactions we could expect."

Madeleine tilted her head quizzically. "So that kiss..."

God, that was going to keep coming back to haunt him. He really should have known better.

"That was to throw her mother off her scent for a while. Nothing more, nothing less." If he didn't have everything he could ever want already... but while he wasn't going to deny that Theodora had her attractions, he simply wasn't interested or even intrigued enough to think about it, not when he had Guillaume to come home to. Three years into their relationship, he still felt as certain that this was _right_ as he had on the first day.

The comment earned him a pat on the right shoulder where her hand rested for the dance. "How very kind of you. And it explains why Anne-Marie was almost unable to form a coherent sentence when I talked to her earlier. Be ready to have her breathe fire once she finds out you weren't serious about her daughter, though." Madeleine took on the lead for a few steps and steered him deftly towards the edge of the dance floor before letting him take over again. "If you need any help, let me know, will you?"

The offer was unexpected enough that it made him miss a step and stumble before he caught up again. "Thank you, but... why?" he couldn't help asking, despite thoughts about gift horses running through his head.

"It's something Wills said the last time they came for a visit," Madeleine said, smoothly skipping a few steps so he could meet her rhythm again. "About how being a royal is hard enough, especially in our generation, so we might as well make sure we have each other's backs. It makes a world of sense if you ask me. And whoever the lucky girl is who got you is going to need some support, I bet. You may have managed to vanish for a few years, but you're still interesting enough for the press to give chase once they find out there's something curious going on."

Amedeo wished Guillaume would see that just as clearly as Madeleine did, but that was going to take a little more work. His lover had accepted the idea that he'd better be on good terms with William, and he seemed to be making an effort lately to get along with any others of their peers they ran into, but he was still a step away from actively reaching out. They'd get there eventually, Amedeo knew, but he'd have to keep pushing for it for a while yet.

"We might take you up on it," Amedeo said with a grateful smile, not bothering to correct her on his spouse's gender. Better leave that cat in the bag a little longer, even though it would probably earn him some more sympathy in her eyes in light of her having Carl Philip as her brother.

Madeleine nodded. "Feel free," she said. "You've got a bit of a bonus worked up anyway after the nice press comment you gave on Carl and Wills, so if you need something in turn, you can count on us."

That had been a little incident a few weeks ago, once it had been officially announced that he'd be the one to represent the Belgian crown on this wedding. It hadn't even been anything special he'd said, but he'd discovered a day later that he was being quoted all over Europe. For a few hours, people had actually known he existed before they conveniently forgot about him again.

"Shall I leave you with Andrea?" Madeleine asked when the music wound down. "He's just a few steps behind you right now, and Carl's about to take off again, I think, so he'll be free."

"Thank you, yes, that would be ideal." That was a little leak that needed to be taken care of right now, before someone made an ill-timed announcement. They'd managed to keep it all quiet for three years, it would be idiotic if they let it slip in the last few weeks.

It was getting harder to be careful these days, though. They both knew they were finally drawing close to the point where they would be able to stop being so secretive about it all, and it was so very tempting to have glimpses of what life would be like then. Just being able to spend time together without having to find a convenient explanation for it would be a relief already.

"Escaped before she could eat you alive, did you?" Andrea said once Amedeo was deposited by his side and Madeleine gave him a cheery wave in farewell before heading for her parents' table for a break.

"Barely. I'm counting myself lucky." He accepted a glass of red wine from a passing waiter and took a sip, glad for something cool after the dancing.

"So," Andrea drawled, an evil little smile on his face. "You and Guillaume? I'm not sure who I should feel sorry for more, you for picking him, or him for picking a Habsburg."

Amedeo, who'd just had another mouthful of wine, tried not to sputter in surprise, choked, and had wine in his nose before he could do as much as take another breath.

"You did that on purpose," he gasped once he had managed to get some air into his lungs.

Andrea grinned. "Of course I did. Worked marvellously, too, wouldn't you say?"

Amedeo ignored the teasing in favour of the more important matter at hand, his nose still stinging. "How on Earth do you know about Guillaume and me?" he demanded.

"I didn't until right now, at least not for sure." Still looking far too amused by the entire situation, Andrea took a step forward and herded him into one of the window alcoves. "Come on, or I'll talk about this right where anyone can overhear."

For a moment Amedeo considered protesting, or simply leaving him standing there, but then went along. It wasn't as if he had much of a choice.

"I need you to keep this a secret," he said urgently as soon as they were out of immediate earshot. First Madeleine, now this. Guillaume was going to strangle him if he didn't manage to do some damage control here.

Andrea waved his hand dismissively. "Of course, don't worry. I'm not an idiot, and I'm not going to ruin this for you two in any way either. But this is the best bit of gossip we've had in... well, since Wills and Carl went public, really. You can't blame me for being curious."

"I'm glad we entertain you," Amedeo said, glaring at him. "How did you find out?"

Please, let it not be yet someone else. If this went on, he might as well make an announcement to the entire room, ask them to keep it quiet and request that they pretended to be surprised once he and Guillaume went official.

"Supreme observation skills," Andrea said. "Theodora said something, then Madeleine said something else, then there's the fact that I know which way Guillaume tends to look for relationships, and it all added up. Theodora knows, though, right? Because otherwise you need to talk to her, now that you've obviously cleared it up with Madeleine."

"She knows," Amedeo confirmed, resisting the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. He was doing that far too much lately, and it was turning into a nervous habit that irritated Guillaume to no end, not in the least because he was beginning to copy it.

Andrea rubbed his hands together with exaggerated glee. "Perfect, I get someone to gossip about this," he said before turning a little more serious again. "You and Guillaume? However did that happen?"

"The usual way?" Amedeo shrugged. "If you're looking for an epic tale of romance and love, I can tell you that too, but they'll probably kick us out before I'm done."

"Love, is it?" Andrea asked.

Amedeo shot him a wry look. "Surely you don't think I'm marrying him for the lands and title."

"You're a Habsburg, one can never be sure with you lot, not when that's been the family modus operandi for a few centuries." Andrea leaned back against the wall, managing a fairly elegant slouch that spoke of years of practise. "You might be trying to start your own empire."

"Why would I bother?"

Andrea shrugged. "I don't know? Your ancestors seem to have been all about that, it might be in the blood."

"I doubt those things are transmitted genetically. After all, my dear pirate prince, how often do you get an urge to dress up as a monk and invade random Mediterranean fortresses?"

Andrea flashed him a grin. "More often than you think, actually. I've got a reputation to uphold, after all. But really... Guillaume?"

The question sounded a little too serious for Amedeo to dismiss it offhand, so he went with his instincts. "Don't tell me there's some sort of issue between you and him as well," he said, not entirely sure he wanted to know the answer. Guillaume had mentioned something once, but Amedeo hadn't followed up on it; they'd been too focused on William at the time.

"Why, are you going to make his apologies for him?" Andrea asked.

Amedeo shook his head. "No, I just need to know how drastic I need to get in order to make him do it himself."

"Nothing dramatic, you don't need to worry." Andrea shrugged. "I was being friendly, and depending on how you look at it, he was either being incredibly rude or incredibly obtuse. Given that this is Guillaume we're talking about, I'm leaning towards the latter by now."

Admittedly, Amedeo could see Andrea's point; dealing with random people on a casual basis simply wasn't Guillaume's forte. One of the side effects of being raised as a future heir and of taking his duties seriously - a little too seriously, at times - that simply had to leave a mark.

"How long's this been going on between you two, anyway?" Andrea wanted to know, leaving his champagne flute with a waiter and exchanging it for a fresh glass of wine. "If you don't mind me asking."

"Would it stop you if I minded?" Amedeo wondered. He had never been on particularly close terms with Andrea, but they got along whenever royal events threw them together as minor and unimportant guests. So far, though, that sense of acquaintance hadn't extended to sharing details of a highly private nature. On the other hand, it was as good a place to start as any, and at least with Andrea, Amedeo could be reasonably sure that he wasn't going to shock him with any revelations.

"Of course not," Andrea said, a cheeky grin on his face. "Get used to it, you'll hear these things often enough once you make it public. I'm merely doing you a favour in letting you practise."

Too true, unfortunately. And it wasn't as if they were going to get that out of the way with a press conference. That might deal with the journalists, but it certainly wasn't going to stop every single relative from conducting their own interrogation. "How very selfless of you."

Andrea raised his glass in an ironic toast. "I aim to please."

***

They'd had such a clever plan. Tell the news to their parents at the same time so they'd be in control of the situation and the communication lines, and not have to worry about anyone deliberately or inadvertently saying anything that should not be said without careful preparation. They'd explain their decisions in the past four years, their feelings, their plans for the future, and then hope the fall-out would be limited.

Amedeo had spent days trying to come up with the best way of talking to his parents, but when he sat with his mother at the cleared table after dinner, his youngest sister upstairs in her room and getting ready for bed already since it was a weekday, he didn't know what to say.

He'd hoped his father would be there - it had been one of the reasons why they'd picked this evening - but there had been an unforeseen shareholder meeting in Switzerland which had rendered those plans futile. Looking at his parents, Amedeo knew at least that he had made the right decision about not continuing to keep a normal job. If he'd done that, he'd see Guillaume no more often than he did now, whenever their schedules and appointments left them both with some breathing space, and he only had to observe his parents' relationship to see that this wasn't something he wanted. Four years of it had been enough (too much already if he was honest with himself) and he needed to draw a line beneath that.

And in order to draw that line, he had to talk to his mother, only he didn't know how to even start.

She was telling him about her appointments of the day, a habit they'd adopted ever since Amedeo had returned to Belgium. Something about a school theatre group she'd visited and the play they'd staged for her to show their skills, but he was only listening with half an ear.

His mother must have noticed, because she stopped eventually and gave him an appraising look. "Is everything all right?" she asked, a hint of concern in her eyes. "You look tired."

He took a deep breath. Then another. "I've been in a relationship with Guillaume for the last four years and we're going to marry," he said before he could change his mind.

For a moment there was utter silence, and he almost wished he could take it back. Almost, because he knew he couldn't have said it again.

"I beg your pardon?" his mother said eventually.

Amedeo forced himself to meet her eyes. "I'm getting married," he tried again. "To Guillaume. Because I love him."

"Don't be ridiculous," she told him in that no-nonsense tone of voice he'd heard often enough.

"I'm not... Mama, this isn't a joke. I'm serious." He moved to cross his arms then, for some reason, remembered body language and left his hands on the table. "We've been together for years now."

She looked at him, and he wished she didn't have forty years' worth of royalty training under her belt so he could at least see a hint of what she was thinking on her face. Then again, maybe it was for the best.

"Amedeo, don't be foolish," she said firmly. "He's a man. You aren't homosexual."

He flinched and forced himself to stay calm. "No, I'm bi if you want to get technical about it, but it doesn't matter, Mama, because it's him I'm in love with. I know this isn't easy to hear and maybe we should have talked about this before, but..."

"You," she interrupted, "aren't going to say anything about this again."

"But -"

"Amedeo, think! You are a prince of this country, you are setting an example. If the press ever finds out that you're saying something like that... I don't even want to consider it. You'll take a break, have a few days to yourself, and you'll come to your senses." The look she fixed him with was one he hadn't seen since he'd been twelve and misbehaved badly in front of a crowd of photographers. "And then we won't speak any more of this."

He shook his head. "I can't do that. Don't you understand? I love him, and I'm tired, we're tired of keeping it a secret any longer."

"There won't be a secret to keep," his mother said sharply. "You'll end this immediately. Amedeo, I can't even believe you let him do this to you! You won't see him again, we'll arrange that for any official meetings and you'll show some sense and stay away!"

For an instant he was speechless. He had expected her to react badly, but this badly... "Mama... no. I won't. This is important, can't you see that? He's the one I want in my life, so what if it isn't entirely conventional? It's legal in this country, it's legal in Luxembourg, so why shouldn't we?"

"Amedeo, you're royalty!"

"So what? So are William and Carl Philip!" A muscle in his shoulder began to cramp, and only then did he realise how tensely stiff he'd been holding himself. "I'm not asking for your permission."

His mother stared at him, her lips pressed together in a thin line, and it was all he could do not to look away. It was childish, but he couldn't concede that point, even though he had no idea what to do about this stand-off. That she wouldn't have an easy time with it was something he'd known, but he hadn't expected her to react like this. Traditional values had to be expected in a family like his, but couldn't she see that he wasn't asking for anything more than all other citizens in this country were granted, a right everyone ought to have?

"Amedeo, be reasonable," she said, visibly struggling for calm. "You can't do this. We'll just find a suitable wife for you, then we can forget about this all. You're a prince, you have to make some sacrifices sometimes, it comes with the privilege."

"Do you even hear what you're saying?" he asked, not sure whether to believe his ears. "A wife? What am I supposed to do with her? Let her hate me because I don't want her? Ask her to look the other way?"

"You just need to see that it can be different," his mother insisted. "You are a prince, Amedeo, you mustn't even think about it, especially not as the eldest. Think what it would mean for the succession! Guillaume..." she trailed off, clearly having difficulties saying the name, "that isn't real, Amedeo, it's just a phase. You'll get over it."

"A phase? We've spent the past four years going through the sorts of difficulties you can't even imagine just to see each other! It's not a _phase_!"

The sound of footsteps from the hallway made them both turn towards the door, and Amedeo froze when he saw his little sister.

"Mama? Amedeo?" Laetitia asked. "Is everything all right? You were shouting loud enough that I could hear it upstairs."

Amedeo wanted to reassure her, tell her that everything would be fine, but before he could say something his mother was already doing so.

"Go back to your room, Laetitia, I'll speak to you later," she said in a tone that brooked no argument. His sister gave him an uncertain look, but obeyed.

"Good night," she said quietly, then she disappeared around the corner.

Once she was gone, his mother turned back towards him, her expression determined. "You won't speak to your siblings, is that clear? I won't let you go anywhere near them until you come to your senses. Especially not Laetitia!"

That blow hurt almost physically, and he felt the fight slip away from him as he understood what she was saying.

"Am I allowed to stay here for tonight?" he asked quietly.

His mother refused to meet his eyes. "I think it is better if you don't," she said. "Until you let go of these insane ideas."

He felt so tired all of a sudden, so damned exhausted. If he'd known... he'd still have gone ahead with it, because it was the right thing to do, but maybe he'd have been able to brace himself a little better for her reaction and wouldn't feel so bruised and battered now. He needed a chance to breathe and think, and even more he needed to hear Guillaume's voice, just to remind himself of why they were doing this.

"I really need you to understand this, Mama," he said softly as he stood up. "Please."

She didn't look at him when he slowly walked past her and out into the hallway, she simply stayed where she was. To let him retreat, he thought, because what else was he doing?

He went upstairs to his room and quickly packed some clothes, then, on second thought, his suit, tie and shoes for tomorrow's appointments. On the way back down he paused at Laetitia's door, but then made himself continue without knocking. However much he might want to see her right now, she didn't deserve to be drawn into this.

At least the decision of where to go was already made for him when he stepped outside.

"Your mother called and told me to put you up for tonight," Philippe said, rising from the wooden bench by the side of the driveway where he'd been waiting.

Amedeo couldn't quite muster the energy to say something in return, so he just nodded and let his uncle lead the way for the short walk to the main palace, grateful for the chill night air that helped clear his head a little. It was too cold to comfortably go without a coat, but right now he couldn't bring himself to care.

They walked for a few minutes before Philippe broke the silence. "I couldn't really make much sense of what Astrid said, but she seems to think you've made a mess of something."

"I told her I'm marrying Guillaume," Amedeo said simply, not bothering with subtleties or diplomacy. "She wasn't pleased."

Philippe hummed in agreement. "Obviously not," he said after a minute, and his lack of reaction to the news was a lot more reassuring than Amedeo had expected. "Are you going to be all right?"

"I'll have to be, won't I?" Amedeo shifted the handles of his bag to his other hand. "Thank you," he said quietly as they walked up the steps to the main entrance.

"Don't mention it," his uncle told him. "We can hardly have you sleep on a bench out in the park, can we? Get some rest, we'll talk in the morning and see what we'll do about all this."

***

By morning, Amedeo seriously considered cancelling his appointments and clearing his schedule for the first time since he'd accepted royal duties on a regular basis. He'd barely slept an hour last night, even after talking to Guillaume, and between that and the entire situation weighing like lead on him, he found it close to impossible to even muster a perfunctory smile, let alone genuine interest.

But it wouldn't be fair to the people who'd been told he'd be coming to visit. He knew how much preparation went into those events, and he wasn't blind to how proud the organisers were to see their efforts and their work recognised. So he pulled himself together and did his best to focus on being appreciative so he wouldn't ruin their excitement with his private problems.

For the morning appointment he managed to throw himself into the effort and forget about the past evening; he was lucky enough that the numismatic exhibition he was opening was a lot more interesting than expected and kept him occupied for a good two hours with listening to the history and science behind it all. The curators seemed happy with his speech and his congratulations, too, and their enthusiasm was enough to carry him through the photo ops with a smile on his face.

The trouble came when he had a few minutes to himself for lunch, with nothing to do once he'd rehearsed his afternoon speech. He tried not to think, but he kept circling back to last night, whether he wanted to or not. If it had gone differently... but he didn't see how. He could have been more diplomatic about it all, of course, but it wouldn't have changed the outcome, not when his mother was so convinced of her opinions.

Amedeo hadn't expected her to be happy - that had been unrealistic from the start - but he'd hoped she'd understand, or at least be willing to listen. He knew she had expectations for him and that those hadn't changed much even once it had become plain he wasn't going to end up ruling Belgium as heir to Philippe. If that had still been the case, he _might_ have understood her concerns, but as it was... what was he, really? A minor royal with no importance whatsoever to the one existing throne he was related to, and even less important to the fifty or sixty empty titles he could claim through his father's side of the family. There simply was no point in him not living his own life, at least to some extent.

Philippe had said as much when they'd spoken over breakfast early this morning. His uncle wasn't entirely happy about the turn of events either, but he held a far more pragmatic outlook. As long as Amedeo was certain about what he was doing, and as long as he wasn't going to cause a scandal a few years down the road by becoming the first gay divorced royal, there weren't any objections from his side. And having Philippe's approval meant more than just acceptance by his uncle; it also meant acceptance by the Duke of Brabant and next King of the Belgians, who already was the main power behind Grandfather's throne. With that, Amedeo dared cautiously hope, approval from parliament should be a formality. After all this was a liberal country, they could hardly deny one of their princes a right they extended to every regular citizen.

No, official permission wasn't going to be the issue, he'd have that if only because no politician in their right mind was going to refuse it in this day and age. Family permission or rather, maternal approval, that was the problem, and it was only enforced by a call from his father halfway during his lunch break, which didn't do much to lighten his mood. He'd just headed for a short walk in a nearby park, trailed by his lone security officer, when his phone jolted him out of his thoughts.

"Your mother isn't happy with you," his father said in lieu of a greeting.

Amedeo sighed and looked back to see whether he was being overheard. The last thing he needed was for someone to catch this choice bit of news and sell it to the press, though he didn't think there was all that much value to gossip about him yet. "I know. She called you?"

"Yesterday evening," his father confirmed. "And again just now. You are serious about this?"

By now he knew better than to simply agree to whichever interpretation of his revelation his mother had shared. "I love Guillaume, and we're going to make it official." Third time in less than a day; he was starting to get the hang of it. "Whatever she's said, it's not a fling or a temporary thing, and I haven't lost my mind either."

His father hummed in agreement. "That's what she's hoping. She's asked me to talk some sense into you."

Some sense. Wonderful. "Papa, it's been four years. If all I'd wanted was a fling, there'd have been easier ways." Was that really so hard to understand? It was one of the aspects that really stung, that she couldn't seem to believe that they were serious about it and that this was love, not lust. If it hadn't been too intimate to share, he'd have told her about their first months together just to prove that they had thought it through and not fallen into bed together on a mere whim.

"No point, I see," his father concluded.

He came to a stop on the gravel path and frowned down at his now dusty shoes. "No."

There was a brief pause, then, "You are aware that this interrupts the line of succession?"

As though he cared about that, with four siblings who could carry on the line. "I'll sign whatever necessary to smooth that over if it comes to that. There's still Joachim, after all." And his brother would be simply delighted to hear that he'd move up from a cadet position to that of heir apparent. He'd better make sure Joachim didn't bolt at the first opportunity.

"There's still Joachim," his father agreed after a brief silence. "Do I need to move him up in the succession for Modena, or will you keep your place there?"

One of those empty titles, but the one Amedeo stood to inherit as current heir apparent. Not that it mattered, and he had his doubts that anyone in Modena really cared or, for that matter, even was aware they still had a duke in theory. But what came tied to the position was a seat on the family council, and along with that a lot of political clout in royal circles. Amedeo wasn't particularly interested in dynastic power plays as such, but he'd have to be a fool not to see the advantages this could bring to him and Guillaume.

"It's your decision, but I don't see a need for you to change it," he said carefully. Up ahead, a couple with a leashed dog were coming towards him and he stepped aside and out of the way to let them pass.

"Then we won't bother with it. Ah... you wouldn't happen to know whether Joachim has any plans to take care of the next generation?"

Amedeo couldn't help a little smile at that. "Don't tell Mama, but he's had his share of girlfriends." And besides, they also had three sisters who were more than capable of taking over. It was high time that their house let go of the old principle of eliminating female heirs through agnatic primogeniture and moved on to simple cognatic succession.

"Well then, that's settled." His father sounded, if not content, then at least not particularly worried. "Do let us know if you change your mind after all. It would save us a lot of complications."

Complications, complications. This wasn't a complication; not being able to live your life with the person you loved because of arbitrary conventions, that was a complication, and he was fed up with this permanent undertone he kept hearing from everyone and which implied that he was doing this just to be difficult.

"It's actually straightforward," he said before he could stop himself. "On the legal side there are no issues whatsoever, it's permitted in Belgium and in Luxembourg. And on the dynastic side, Guillaume meets all requirements of Habsburg house law."

"He's a man," his father pointed out.

"He's Catholic," Amedeo said, ticking off the points on his free hand. "He's from a reigning house of appropriate rank, he's a royal highness, and as a bonus point he's the heir to a throne and will rule in his own right. That meets all the criteria. There's no clause saying that a suitable partner has to be of the opposite sex. I checked." Granted, his ancestors probably hadn't even considered the possibility when they'd laid down the articles of the house law that governed appropriate marriages, but Amedeo wasn't above taking advantage of that. A loophole was a loophole.

"Amedeo..."

"Papa, don't. I'm already arguing with Mama about this, please don't start it as well. I know what I'm doing."

He heard his father sigh. "You've always been too stubborn. Very well then, but I expect you to handle this by yourself."

Which, it seemed, was as much as he could realistically hope for, Amedeo thought as they ended the call. It shouldn't surprise him; he'd known he couldn't count on a positive reaction from his parents, and that at least his father chose to remain neutral could be chalked up as a victory. If only it felt like one.

By the time his afternoon appointment with a town festival came around, Amedeo began to find it hard to summon at least some enthusiasm. He tried to show interest and be alert, but by the time the opening speeches were over and done with, he had a pounding headache and was more than aware that he was no longer young enough not to feel a practically sleepless night. He still did his share of the ceremony, praying that he didn't look as weary as he felt, and heaved an inward sigh of relief when he could step off the podium again and sit down. He really needed some sleep; caffeine was no longer doing the trick today and only made him jittery on top of everything else.

Mercifully, after his speech all that was expected of him was a reasonably engaged expression and half an hour of small talk, with no more media presence than a few journalists from the local paper. Anything beyond that and they might have found themselves with a story on Prince Amedeo of Belgium involuntarily taking a nosedive. Not something that would help his public image, he suspected.

The sun had already set when it was all wrapped up and he could leave without appearing like he didn't care. Under normal circumstances he'd have enjoyed the day; activities outside of Brussels tended to be more fun, and since the more distant areas got less attention by their monarch and his representatives, the people were a lot easier to entertain and seemed genuinely happy to have a prince to themselves for a few hours. Today, though, the constant attention was grating on his already battered nerves.

"Sir, are you certain you want to travel to Luxembourg tonight?" his security officer asked once Amedeo had practically fallen into the car seat.

"Yes," he said tiredly. "I cleared it with Laeken this morning, they should have told you about it by then. I know it's a spontaneous change, but..."

He was worn out, he had a pounding headache, and all he wanted right now was a hug from the man he loved and then simply _sleep_ and not think for a few precious hours.

"If you're sure..." the man said, and Amedeo wondered just how bad he looked to inspire that sort of concern. The security officers were there to look out for their safety, but so far Amedeo hadn't received all that much attention from them beyond reminders not to wander off by himself.

"Look, I'm aware it wasn't on the schedule, and I know I'm not supposed to do this sort of thing, but I wouldn't be breaking the rules if it could be avoided. So you can either turn south and head for the border, or you can drop me off at the next train station so I can make my own way." He winced when his mind caught up with his tongue again. "Sorry. It's just... is it too far past your duty hours? If that's the case we can arrange for a shift change, but I really am not going back to Brussels tonight."

The security officer shrugged. "That's not a problem," he said. "It's just unusual for you, so I'd rather make certain."

Amedeo managed to crack a tired smile. "I've been too well behaved?" he asked.

It earned him an amused glance through the rear-view mirror. "Something like that. Luxembourg, then."

"Thank you." He leaned back, remembered to fasten his seat-belt without being prompted, and settled down for a nap.

Or rather, tried to, because he simply couldn't get his thoughts to quiet down. They kept going back to the talk with his mother, no matter how often he'd rehashed that in his mind already.

Should he have gone back to try and talk to her once more? But she'd not spoken to him beyond a greeting this morning when he'd stopped by to collect an overnight bag for his days with Guillaume - not that he'd mentioned where he was going, but he assumed she could guess. Perhaps he could have been more discreet, sneaked in before she'd be awake so she wouldn't know. Then again, why should he? He'd told her, so it was hardly a secret that he'd be spending time with his lover and actually stay for the night. Surely she could have no illusions that they'd done nothing but hold hands for the past four years.

He wished he at least knew what it was she found so unacceptable. That he was in love with another man? That he was in love with his second cousin? That it was Guillaume? Or that it was _him_ , her son and firstborn? It would be simpler to figure out how to convince her that the world wasn't going to end if he could find the answer to that question. On the other hand, he wasn't sure he wanted to know.

He breathed a little more easily when they crossed the border and his driver called ahead to announce their arrival, and by the time the familiar sight of Berg Castle came into view, he'd almost managed to convince himself that this whole mess could be sorted out somehow. His security guard dropped him off in the inner courtyard, then went off to park the car, find somewhere for the night, whatever it was the man did under these circumstances. Amedeo couldn't make himself care just now, because by the time he'd gotten out of the car, Guillaume was coming towards him, and the only thing that stopped Amedeo from falling into his arms was the sight of his lover's parents in the warmly lit doorway.

"Hey," he said quietly, and for the first time this day managed a genuine smile that was immediately mirrored by Guillaume.

"Hey, too. Don't worry, they thought they'd come and meet you now and then leave us in peace."

Amedeo wanted to reach out, but all he dared was to let his hand brush against Guillaume's as they walked together so he could greet the Grand Duke and Duchess of Luxembourg. Or his lover's parents, or Uncle Henri and Aunt María Teresa, and he wished he'd taken the time to figure out how to handle this situation. It wasn't as though it came as a surprise that he'd be meeting them, but with all his other concerns it hadn't occurred to him to prepare himself.

Fortunately, María Teresa saved him the embarrassment of guessing and possibly getting it wrong. "Amedeo," she said, rising up a little, and he got the idea and leaned down to let her kiss his cheek in greeting. "It's nice to have you here again, and even officially this time, without all the secrecy."

He ducked his head and smiled a little sheepishly. "I'm... glad we don't have a need for that anymore," he offered, and it earned him a friendly pat on his arm, along with an encouraging look.

"That goes for us too, my dear. Doesn't it?" That last was directed towards her husband, and Amedeo breathed a quiet sigh of relief when Henri nodded at him in greeting.

"Of course," he agreed. "Amedeo, it's good to see you. And don't worry, Guillaume has filled us in already and we'll sort this out together."

María Teresa patted his arm once more, then let go. "But tomorrow. I'm sure you two have a lot to talk about and besides, it's getting late and you look like you're ready to drop."

It all went better than Amedeo had dared hope; Guillaume had told him his parents had taken the news reasonably well, but there was a difference between hearing and experiencing it firsthand. The friendly welcome was a balm on his nerves, and he had to blink at the kind look María Teresa was giving him.

"It will be fine," she told him, then turned away from him a little. "Guillaume, we'll see you two for breakfast tomorrow?"

Even Amedeo, tired as he was, had no trouble figuring out the order behind that apparent question, so he nodded along with his lover, only to be dismissed a moment later.

They slowly climbed the stairs up to Guillaume's apartment together and once they were around the first corner, Amedeo felt his lover's hand against the small of his back, a light touch that did wonders to ground him. It was the first thing today that got through the air of detachment he'd felt since morning, the first time something felt _real_ , along with the realisation that if they wanted to, they could share that sort of connection at any time now and not only when they were safely out of sight.

It was going to take a while to break them of the habit, though; only once the door of Guillaume's rooms fell safely shut behind them did they dare to turn towards each other. For a moment they just looked at each other, nothing more. Then Amedeo moved forward into Guillaume's arms, buried his face against his lover's shoulder and simply held on.

"Amedeo..." Guillaume's embrace around him tightened uncomfortably but he didn't protest; it just didn't matter, all he cared about was that they both were here, that they were together, and that for now he didn't have to think about all the unresolved issues still surrounding them.

He couldn't have said for sure when and how they ended up on Guillaume's bed together, still dressed, just holding on to each other. Guillaume was slowly stroking his back, a soothing, repetitive motion, silently comforting while Amedeo tried to regain his balance. He didn't feel quite so close to falling to pieces anymore, even though he didn't have to maintain a façade right now, but he knew that was more due to his lover's presence than his own self-control.

A kiss was pressed against the top of his head and made him look up. "I love you," Guillaume told him quietly when their eyes met. "Thank you for doing this for me."

"For us," Amedeo corrected in the same hushed tone. "I'm being equal parts nice and selfish here."

Guillaume chuckled. "You've got a right to be selfish," he said, his hand still against Amedeo's back, warm and solid. "Are you all right?"

He took a slow breath, then another. "I'm going to be," he said honestly, trying for a bit of optimism that escaped him again when he had to force his next words out. "We need to discuss this."

"Not tonight," Guillaume told him firmly. "All we're doing tonight is rest, and nothing beyond that. It's got time until tomorrow."

Amedeo made to push away, just a little, but Guillaume's arm against his back didn't let him move much. "No, we need... I need to speak to Philippe. And your parents, first of all."

"Amedeo, they won't mind if you aren't there with a plan first thing in the morning," Guillaume said in that perfectly reasonable tone of voice he could affect, and it was tempting to give in to it. "They can't have helped noticing that you weren't exactly in a shape to think straight, let alone come up with anything sensible."

"Guillaume-"

"No. Be reasonable, Amedeo. If you want to convince me that you're up to that sort of thing, you're going to have to stop shaking first."

He considered protesting, but then didn't bother. It wasn't as if he actually wanted to spend even more time going over it all, especially right now. They'd have to do so eventually, that was unavoidable. But at the moment he couldn't muster the willpower to convince Guillaume that this needed doing.

Guillaume's hand was still stroking his back and he sighed softly when he was kissed once more, on the forehead this time, then his temple before Guillaume's mouth found his own. He shifted so he didn't have to crane his neck and made himself more comfortable, curling close against the reassuring presence of his lover.

They kissed for a little while, petting, touching, but when Amedeo tried to let his fingers travel a little more suggestively, Guillaume's hand covered them. "Wait" he ordered quietly. "Not that I don't appreciate the offer, but... are you really in the mood for it?"

Amedeo met his eyes, frowning, then slowly exhaled, uncertain whether to be disappointed or relieved. He wanted the physical contact and, even more, the emotional intimacy, but right now he had to admit to himself that he simply felt too drained. "I was looking forward to seeing you tonight," he murmured. "But with everything else..."

"Like I said, too tired to think straight." Guillaume looked into his eyes a little longer before sitting up. "Come on, time to get you out of these clothes and comfortable. For sleep," he added, "before you get any ideas."

Summoning a last grain of energy, Amedeo managed a sassy smile. "And what ideas would those be?"

"The sort we're going to talk about tomorrow."

"Promise?"

Guillaume leaned down to kiss the tip of his nose. "Promise."

This, he sleepily thought a little later, safely tucked against Guillaume underneath the blankets, one of his lover's hands slowly combing through his hair and the other a steadying touch on the bare skin of his hip, this was what made it all worth it.

***

It all happened a lot more quickly than Amedeo had expected.

He had a call from Philippe before they could even get out of bed, let alone dressed for breakfast. His uncle had managed to clear the schedule for him for a few days so he had time to sort through his private life, and most appointments afterwards would be in the southern part of the country to make staying in Luxembourg possible. A small concession, but one that elegantly sidestepped a number of issues which would have arisen had Amedeo been forced to continue living in Brussels.

He had barely managed to share the good news with Guillaume when his grandfather was on the phone as well, just a few minutes later (and probably not quite coincidentally). Apparently Amedeo's mother had attempted to enlist him - and Amedeo cursed himself for not considering that possibility - but hadn't been entirely successful. He couldn't make a lot of sense of it all, but apparently his grandfather didn't care what he got up to as long as it didn't make Grandmother organise an exorcism again. In that case, Amedeo was given to understand, he was on his own and should consider joining a monastery.

"I think it's a good overall solution in his eyes, even if it's somewhat unconventional," Philippe explained later when Amedeo in turn called him back for some clarifications, just so he didn't get this wrong somehow. "He's always been a bit concerned you'd feel neglected that you aren't further ahead in the succession, given that you're the eldest grandchild, and male and a Habsburg as well. Now that you're marrying into another royal house and eliminating yourself, it's all a lot easier."

Amedeo could only shake his head at such twisted reasoning, which in turn made Guillaume frown at him quizzically. "Do you have any idea how happy I was when Elisabeth was born and I no longer had to worry about all this?" he asked, reaching for Guillaume's hand and scooting closer. He was feeling more settled, but he wasn't about to give up the reassurance of a physical connection. "The only reason I agreed to be her godfather was so I could be sure nobody would drop her at the altar!"

Philippe chuckled. "You know that, boy, and I know that. Your grandfather thought that your newfound interest in royal duties in the last months meant you were moving into place to present yourself as a viable alternative and usurp the throne at the earliest opportunity."

"And now he thinks that I decided to go for the throne of Luxembourg rather than that of Belgium?" Guillaume blinked at that, and Amedeo flashed him a grin. "It _is_ a very pleasant country, I won't deny that. Maybe I ought to think about the idea..." Guillaume shot him a look of mock outrage, and Amedeo blew him a kiss in response. "No, I don't think so, even if Grandfather believes I'm cunning enough to come up with a plot like that."

"Apparently he does," Philippe confirmed. "Anyway, you probably don't need to be concerned at this end. He's not going to stand in your way, and parliament couldn't care less. They'll declare you a prime example for how modern and open the country is, pat themselves on the back for being able to deal with eccentric royalty, and that's that."

Amedeo hummed in agreement, smiling when Guillaume kissed his bare shoulder, a quiet gesture not intended to distract him. "Is there any schedule or something we need to keep?" he asked. "I looked up the theory, but I can't remember how they handled it for you and Mathilde, and I wasn't sure whether Uncle Laurent is a good case to follow."

"No, we'll just arrange an appointment for you with the cabinet, they'll take care of it. Don't worry, it's a formality." Philippe paused briefly, and Amedeo heard children's voices in the background shout a cheerful farewell to their father. "Just make sure you've got your official statement for the press ready, they aren't exactly good at keeping quiet about it. Once you apply for permission, it's not going to stay a secret for any longer than it takes the first of them to dig out their mobile."

"We weren't going to wait for much longer before we go official," Amedeo said, looking into Guillaume's eyes and receiving a nod of confirmation. "It's been long enough, and now there's no need for it anymore either."

"I'll leave that entirely up to you. Anyway, that's the status for now. Oh, and Mathilde says to congratulate you."

Amedeo smiled. "Tell her thanks. And to you, too, I really appreciate the help."

"I wouldn't want you to get any ideas about usurping the throne after all, now would I? Take care, and remember, I expect you back to cutting ribbons next week."

The call over and done with, Amedeo put the mobile phone aside and snuggled back up to Guillaume, who was watching him with open amusement.

"What?" he asked as he made himself comfortable.

Guillaume just shook his head, smiling. "Nothing," he said.

In a quick move, Amedeo had his lover pinned underneath him, his hands on Guillaume's shoulders to keep him down. "Nothing?" he asked, eyebrows raised.

"Just enjoying the view," Guillaume told him innocently.

Amedeo cocked his head. "Is that so." A quick glance at the clock on the far wall, then he bent down to deliver an inviting kiss which was answered with plenty of enthusiasm. "Do we have time before breakfast to... enjoy the view a bit more?"

"Absolutely," Guillaume caught Amedeo's face in his hands before he could do more than place a tentative nip at what had long become his favourite spot along Guillaume's neck. "But for once, no love bite, all right? I've got to face my parents today."

"I'll be good," Amedeo promised, his tongue flicking out to teasingly lick the fingers covering his mouth.

Guillaume snorted. "And Hell will freeze over."

"You wound me with your distrust," Amedeo declared, the drama only slightly spoiled by the fact that he couldn't entirely keep his face straight. "You really do."

"Oh, you... come here." Guillaume dragged him down into a kiss that left little doubt about their plans for the immediate future. Amedeo sighed happily and just let himself enjoy it for a moment, moaning low in his throat when Guillaume started to take command of the kiss, for once needing a lot less encouragement than usual and before Amedeo was quite in the mood to surrender control.

He resisted when Guillaume attempted to push up and instead nipped at his jaw, then followed it up with a quick kiss to silence any protests, his intention to prove Guillaume wrong at odds with sheer temptation. One of his lover's hands settled low against his back, the other at the back of his head to draw him in close and bring their mouths together, a more than welcome distraction. Amedeo held back, just for a moment, and it was enough to coax Guillaume into a deep growl that hit all the right spots for him.

When Guillaume rolled them this time, Amedeo didn't fight back but went along with the movement, demure enough that it earned him a look somewhere between suspicion and amusement. He blinked back with all the innocence he could muster, and was rewarded with a quick, genuine laugh.

"You don't fool me," Guillaume told him, still chuckling. "As if I'd ever buy that harmless look from you."

"I can be harmless," Amedeo insisted, glad for the brief, light-hearted respite from all the concerns around them. For the past years, having Guillaume in bed with him had always meant everything was right in their small corner of the world, a mental association that did a lot right now to ease the tension and let him simply enjoy the moment.

Guillaume only shook his head. "I'll believe that when I see it," he shot back, claiming Amedeo's mouth and preventing a reply.

They settled against each other, playful teasing soon turning more deliberate. There was something oddly comforting in even the most arousing caresses this time, in the way Guillaume easily knew him well enough to make even the most fleeting of touches count. It wasn't just a matter of familiarity with each other, but of doing so without even having to consciously think about it. They'd always been good at communicating in bed, with words and without, and Amedeo had never appreciated it nearly as much as now, when every noise and gesture he made was answered in just the right way. He said yes, quietly, to Guillaume's knowing touches, to his exploring hand between them, and when they moved together he found he didn't need to say anything at all.

Breakfast came around far too quickly for his taste; if it had been up to him he'd have spent the morning in bed with Guillaume. But that wasn't an option, not when the outside world was intruding on them already after so little precious time just between the two of them. So he put on a brave face while he showered and dressed, sneaking kisses and touches in-between because he couldn't just watch Guillaume and not do so.

He'd been good, Amedeo thought with a hidden smile, surreptitiously reaching out to tug Guillaume's collar a little higher and hide the love bite blooming on the tender skin of his throat. Almost, at least.

***

The next two weeks passed in a blur.

Amedeo hated to admit it, but he'd underestimated just how complicated his life was about to become. The almost daily trips back and forth between Belgium and Luxembourg were something he had expected, and he could easily have handled them if there hadn't been so much to arrange at the same time.

A personal meeting with his grandfather, another meeting with Philippe, the preparations of the official requests to the Belgian government, the time it took to sit down with a full set of house laws, the Belgian constitution and all documentation of precedence to draft the necessary submissions. By the time he'd spent the second sleepless night rifling through all that, up to the ears in clauses and sub-clauses and exceptions and stipulations, he more than envied all those happy regular people whose marriages weren't of national importance (even if only theoretically).

Then there was the quick trip to Switzerland to see his father and make sure that everything was truly well on that front. Even after their talks, Amedeo simply needed to be certain he had if not the approval, then at least not the disapproval of one parent, and the journey was worth it just for the paternal pat on the shoulder and the tacit promise of support. On top of all that, his father also accompanied him to a meeting with Cousin Karl that day, also known as His Imperial and Royal Apostolic Majesty Karl the Second of Habsburg-Lorraine.

By now Amedeo was an expert at explaining his situation, so asking for permission once again was starting to be almost routine. It was going to be valuable feedback for his siblings: it saved time and effort to avoid individual requests and instead go for a written statement if you needed to get the approval of the King of Belgium, the Belgian parliament, your father as the Duke of Modena and head of the cadet branch, and finally that of the titular Emperor of Austria-Hungary as overall head of your house if you ever intended to get married.

As it was, Amedeo simply presented his case, pointed out that it was a prime chance for their house to look modern and counter all those criticisms about being too conservative, and two hours later had an impressive-looking document, signed and sealed, that proclaimed him and Guillaume an acceptable match according to Habsburg-Lorraine house law. There even was the promise to clear up that silly little misunderstanding over Guillaume's uncertain status as a Prince of Bourbon-Parma with Cousin Carlos. After all Amedeo, as an exalted Prince Imperial and Archduke of Austria-Este, really couldn't be expected to marry anyone who was just a lowly future grand duke of a tiny country, and not even an undisputed Prince of a royal house.

Amedeo wisely kept his mouth shut at that and figured it could do no harm to let his elders and betters have some fun. Power brokering between the royal houses, no matter whether deposed or reigning, was their favourite pastime, and he far preferred them to argue over Guillaume's rank rather than his gender.

Afterwards he managed to return to Luxembourg for a whole evening to celebrate those milestones with Guillaume before he was on another plane, this time to New York. There was a move to arrange, an apartment to empty, a farewell party with his former colleagues to attend... by the time Amedeo came back, he was glad that he, at least, didn't share Guillaume's problem with getting some sleep on planes, because otherwise he'd have gone through three days without a chance at rest.

He was barely back on European soil when he was tossed into the carousel of royal representations. Philippe might have freed his schedule for almost a week, but that only meant everything that could be postponed had been shoved backwards by a few days. Soon Amedeo was at a point where he couldn't say for sure whether he always held the correct speeches at his events and whether he cut all the ribbons he was supposed to cut and didn't forget a few or, even worse, cut some security tape somewhere and proclaimed a half-finished staircase open.

At least nobody could say he wasn't pulling his weight.

"You know," Joachim told him after practically kidnapping him for lunch when they both were in Brussels at the same time, "If I ever needed proof that I don't want to do the royal job on a full time basis, you're giving it to me right now."

"It's not that bad," Amedeo muttered defensively into his pasta.

Joachim shot him a disbelieving look. "You mean it could be _worse_? How? By letting them arrange some midnight events?"

"Mama and Philippe are doing a lot more," he tried to point out.

"Maybe, but they aren't trying to juggle an intercontinental move and a relationship on overdrive at the same time." Joachim shook his head and reached for the wine bottle to refill their glasses. "I've got no idea what you are trying to prove, big brother, but I'm sure you've made your point by now. Shouldn't you be spending more time with Guillaume and less time praising the efficiency of water treatment plants?"

"Those efforts need to be properly appreciated for their environmental impact," Amedeo said before he could stop himself, then turned serious again. "I know how it looks. But I promised I'd do this, so I'm not backing out."

"As if anyone'd hold that against you," Joachim muttered, then mercifully changed the subject. "Laura wants to talk to you, by the way. She'll be back from Shanghai in a few days, but she wasn't sure when it's a good time for you at the moment."

"I'll give her a call," Amedeo promised and hesitated a little before he went on. "She... knows she's not supposed to talk to me?"

Joachim snorted. "As if that's going to stop any of us. Remember how Mama used to send us up to our rooms without dinner if we misbehaved? You or Laura always sneaked something past her for whoever the culprit was at the time. We had a talk, and we decided this really isn't any different. That reminds me, Luisa's going to take Laetitia for a walk tomorrow afternoon around the Grand Place, roundabout at the time when you're done with your appointment there. Make sure you don't miss them, will you?"

"You shouldn't do that," Amedeo said quietly, even though he could barely hide his smile at the prospect of seeing his youngest two siblings.

Joachim shrugged. "We shouldn't _have_ to do it, but right now it can't be helped until Mama comes to her senses. You're our brother, we're hardly going to ignore you just because you fell in love with a nice guy. Though you owe me, they'll keep on dragging me out for appointments now that you're deserting for good."

Amedeo sighed softly. "Thank you. Really. It means a lot."

His brother eyed him critically for a moment, then shook his head. "Too many duties if you aren't awake enough to get that I'm joking."

The time with Joachim left him with a lighter heart for the rest of the day; he hadn't wanted to be the one to speak to his siblings in case they didn't want to be dragged into this whole mess, and neither had he wanted to use their father or Philippe as a go-between. To know that they understood how important this all was to him mattered more than he could have said. It was hard enough that his mother couldn't accept his choice; if the same had been true for his siblings, Amedeo was not certain what he'd have done. His family was one of the most important factors in his life, but so were Guillaume and their right to make their own decisions.

There still was no progress with his mother. She wasn't outright refusing to see him, but was careful to arrange matters so she'd not be at home when he stopped by. At first he'd been hopeful that she'd change her mind, but after a few times he'd resigned and simply packed the few changes of clothes and handful of books he'd still kept in his old room in Laeken. They were in Luxembourg now, together with the first of his belongings from New York, and one of these days he and Guillaume would have to find the time and figure out how to arrange it all.

Cohabitation was turning out to be considerably trickier than having a regular weekend visitor or turning over part of the closet to Guillaume so he could store a few things for his New York trips. This was a matter of combining two separate sets of possessions into one, and Amedeo hadn't been prepared for the surprising pitfalls it presented.

Books, for one thing. They both owned sizable libraries, and combining those two was going to be a major challenge. Amedeo couldn't settle on a system just for his own books; throwing a second collection into the mix turned it all completely impossible. The duplicates alone were going to be complicated, let alone Guillaume's rather idiosyncratic ideas on shelving systems.

"What's T.E. Lawrence got to do with a survey on gross domestic products in the Gulf region?" Amedeo demanded to know when he tried for the first time to understand the logic behind it. "What's the common denominator there, camels?"

"Actually, agricultural production, and I'm assuming camels fall into that category, only amounts to less than one percent of the average Gulf GDP," Guillaume told him. "I can find you the exact number if you really want to know, it was in one of my trade briefings for my summer projects."

Amedeo wrinkled his nose. "No thanks, no need for that." He tried a few more times to see the connections between the books side by side on Guillaume's shelves, but it simply didn't add up to anything in his mind. If there was a system, it wasn't an obvious one, and after a few days of almost-arguing, they ended up shipping Amedeo's bookshelves from New York along with the books themselves. And those weren't even the only pieces of furniture they'd be transporting over; Guillaume had refused to even consider the possibility of not keeping Amedeo's bed.

"How are we going to explain that to your parents?" Amedeo wanted to know when it became plain that nothing he could do would change Guillaume's mind on that. "Sentimental values?"

"I'll just count on them not wanting to actually know," Guillaume said serenely. "Or I can tell them it's to make your transition go more smoothly and let you keep something familiar."

Amedeo shook his head. "To think that people call _me_ weird..." he mused, smiling when he saw the little frown on his lover's face. "Stop looking like that. According to people like Andrea Casiraghi, I'm a Habsburg, I can't help it if I-"

The possessive kiss that statement earned him came a little surprising, but Amedeo certainly wasn't going to complain about it. If mentioning the heir to Monaco drew such reactions out of Guillaume, he thought, happily settling into his lover's arms for a little break from their organisational efforts, he'd have to do it more often.

***

By the time the press conference for the official announcement of their engagement came around, Amedeo was glad he'd gone through a year's worth of royal appointments and representations. Without that, he wasn't sure he'd have known what to do with himself. He'd had plenty of practise in speaking in front of groups from his old job, but that had been fact-focused and in no way related to him. This, however, was going to get personal.

At least the crowd of journalists assembled in the Grand Ducal Palace's press room was comfortably small. Announcements from Guillaume tended not to garner too much attention, especially if there wasn't anything particularly exciting on his schedule for the coming weeks. And since they hadn't said anything in advance about the matter they wished to announce, the media representatives were expecting an ordinary question-and-answer session on their Hereditary Grand Duke's upcoming appointments.

Amedeo earned a few mildly curious looks when he walked in together with Guillaume and they sat down side by side at the table up front. One of the journalists leaned over to a colleague, and he heard his name whispered as an explanation. In Belgium people tended to recognise him by now, but outside of his home country he obviously still was far from being a familiar face. Not that he cared in the least; the fewer people knew he - and Guillaume, for that matter - existed, the less attention they'd be getting once they survived the next thirty minutes. Amedeo didn't mind people knowing, but he'd seen the fuss made over William and Carl Philip and didn't particularly want a repeat of that.

He left the introductory words to Guillaume; this was Luxembourg, it was his playing field. They quickly got through a brief greeting, a round of thanks for everyone's attendance and a short introduction of Amedeo. Then, without preamble, Guillaume said, "Prince Amedeo is here today because he has done me the honour of accepting my proposal." Which wasn't entirely accurate, but they'd decided on this version as the most practical one, since it did clarify their future roles as Grand Duke and Prince Consort from the beginning.

The crowd looked puzzled, and from the corner of his eye Amedeo saw the Grand Ducal press spokesman's expression darken with concern. One of the women towards the side raised her hand. "Proposal to do what?" she asked.

Guillaume shot Amedeo a nervous smile. "To marry me."

Silence reigned.

Amedeo reached for Guillaume's hand and felt his lover's fingers tighten around his own for a moment.

"Let's try this again, shall we?" Guillaume said with astonishingly genuine good cheer, and brought their joined hands up onto the table and into plain view. "It's my joy and pleasure to inform you all that Prince Amedeo and I are engaged to be married. We have been in a committed and loving relationship for a long time now, and the moment has finally come for us to take the next step. Now that we have the permission of parliament and my father the Grand Duke, we are very happy to share these news with you. And before anyone here panics because there are no cameras present, there will be another announcement by the Grand Duke and Grand Duchess this afternoon, with Prince Amedeo and myself in attendance as well, so there will be plenty of time for all of you to prepare for it. But since you are the ones I always tell my big news to, we decided you should be the ones to hear this first as well."

When they'd first discussed this, Amedeo hadn't been convinced that telling the mostly junior journalists who made up the present small crowd was the right way to handle it all. But now that he saw the reactions among the journalists, he was glad Guillaume had won that particular argument. It was a trial run for them, as well as a way to get the news out to those members of the media Guillaume worked with on a regular basis. They'd be the first to know, and it would give them an edge over their more senior colleagues since they'd be the ones to break important news for once. Guillaume was essentially handing them a special treat and a reward for good behaviour, and from the amused looks and benevolent smiles Amedeo could see throughout the room, it was earning plenty of goodwill.

They looked at each other, then Guillaume turned back towards the press and cleared his throat. "I assume there are questions?"

A woman in the first row raised her hand, her eyes wide, and half rose from her chair when Guillaume nodded at her. "Your High-... Your Royal Highness," she corrected herself hastily, "does that mean you're gay?"

Guillaume and Amedeo looked at each other, shared resignation mirrored on their faces.

"Told you that would be the first question," Amedeo whispered.

Guillaume's eyes minutely flicked upwards before he summoned a perfunctory smile again and turned to look at the woman, who was anxiously clutching her pen. "I _am_ making an announcement on my matrimonial intentions towards another man," he said, his tone formal. "Are there any other questions?"

"Some of them," a dark-haired man in the middle of the front row remarked dryly. "Congratulations, Your Royal Highnesses, first of all. To beat the ladies to it, when is the wedding?"

"Thank you, Jacques," Guillaume said, and Amedeo thought he could hear a hint of relief in his voice. "The last Saturday in May, since we'd really like to have good weather for it all."

A woman from one of the rows further back raised her hand. "Congratulations from me, too, Your Royal Highnesses. How long have you been with Prince Amedeo?"

"We have been in a relationship for more than four years now," Guillaume said, and Amedeo knew he was deliberately omitting any comments on how long they'd known each other. As far as Amedeo was concerned, the fact that they were second cousins didn't matter, not when it was virtually impossible to find two members of the royal circles who weren't related to each other these days. But what they'd dismissed as an irrelevant matter still didn't need to be given any more attention than necessary in case the press decided to dig it up, and so they'd just ignore family matters - and family gatherings - for the time being.

Another woman, this one in a bright red blazer, was the next to ask a question. "Does this have anything to do with Prince William?"

Amedeo didn't have to glance at Guillaume to know that he was inwardly rolling his eyes again. "I congratulate Prince William and Prince Carl Philip on their wedding, and of course we are very happy for them, especially under the circumstances," Guillaume said, and Amedeo figured it might go a little ways towards patching up matters on that particular front once those two heard of these statements. "But Prince Amedeo and I are not in a relationship because it is fashionable right now."

"Sir, since it's got to be asked," a man on the far right of the front row picked up. "What about the succession?"

Logical, unavoidable, and Amedeo wished sometimes that this weren't such an integral part of a life in the nobility. They were lucky, they both still had several younger siblings to count on, so it was unlikely to really become more than a theoretical concern. But it was a concern nonetheless, and neither Laura, Joachim - who was responsible on the Habsburg side of things - nor Félix were exactly overjoyed at suddenly having this duty relegated to them.

"I stand to succeed the Grand Duke one day, and Prince Félix is my heir in turn, just as he has been since the first day of his life. I have to refer you to him for any further information." And wouldn't Félix be overjoyed at that.

"Prince Amedeo," the next question came directed at him for the first time, and he suspected they were calling him by name because they didn't have any idea how else to formally address him, "what's your role in all this going to be from now on?"

He glanced at Guillaume and received an encouraging nod in turn. "My role right now is going to be that of Prince Guillaume's," he remembered to use his lover's title, strange as it was to mention it, "fiancé, which is an entirely unofficial position. We have decided that for the coming months we will be handling a number of projects together, but all solo activities I work on will still be in the name of my grandfather, the King of the Belgians." He paused briefly. "Aside from all that, it's my privilege and my pleasure to be at Prince Guillaume's side and support him in his hard work for Luxembourg, now and in the future."

It was a rehearsed answer and sounded terribly stilted and artificial to him, but he knew how the game was played. Propriety before all else, especially in these first moments.

They stayed for almost an hour to deal with questions that ranged from factual to romantic to far too intimate to even bother to answer them. Most of the time Guillaume was the one to speak for them; Amedeo had been carefully briefed to handle questions directed straight at him, but leave the rest to Guillaume since he was the one with official standing here. It was a preview of his role in the future, he knew - he'd be in a supporting position, and they'd best settle into that right from the beginning.

"That went better than expected," Guillaume said with a deep sigh of relief once they were back in his office a few floors further up. "Now we just need to survive the afternoon announcement, then it's done."

Amedeo dropped into one of the visitors' chairs in front of Guillaume's desk with a heartfelt groan. "You say that as if it's just a minor matter to deal with."

Guillaume shrugged. "Paps is going to take that one over, there won't be all that much for us to do. He'll make the formal announcement, then my mother will comment on a few things, and I'll probably get to say a line or two. All you need to do is sit there and look decorative and like you aren't nervous."

"I'm not nervous," Amedeo protested, rolling his shoulders in an attempt to ease some of the tension he still felt. "I just never had to deal with more than five reporters and a few amateur cameramen before. It's a big step from that to worldwide live broadcasts, you have to admit."

Guillaume dropped his notes from the conference on his desk, then came over to stand behind him. "It's not going to be a live broadcast," he said, laying his hands on Amedeo's shoulders. "And it's only going to be on the news in Luxembourg, and maybe Belgium, so that's hardly worldwide either."

"It's the bit of the world that matters," Amedeo insisted and moaned appreciatively when Guillaume's clever fingers started to work on his taut muscles. The rest of the world wouldn't care about them; other than William and Carl Philip, they were obscure enough that hardly anyone had ever heard of them outside their home countries. It wouldn't change with today, either - they simply weren't interesting enough for that, fortunately. But in Luxembourg and Belgium... if there still was anyone who'd forgotten about Amedeo's existence, they'd know by tonight what the eldest of that generation of junior royals was up to these days.

Leaning down, Guillaume kissed his cheek. "Stop fretting," he said. "You're doing fine, and we'll manage this as well. You know that rule about not letting dogs see that you're nervous? That goes for journalists as well, so just put up a brave face."

"It's not..." Amedeo pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration, then grumbled when Guillaume reached out to catch his hand and draw it away. "I'm not fretting. And I'm not nervous, either. I'm just not so sure about discussing my love life in front of people I don't know."

"Definitely don't do that," Guillaume said. "My parents are going to be there."

Amedeo tilted his head back to shoot his lover an upside-down glower. "As if they have no idea what we're doing together."

"No thanks to you and your insistence to leave me with telltale signs of how you molest me." Guillaume's hands on his shoulders tightened briefly, and Amedeo gave a contented hum at the firmer grip.

"As if I'd ever leave you with a hickey somewhere visible," he protested. "Anyone who gets to see them has to be close enough to look down your collar, and you'd better not let anyone but me do that."

Guillaume threw him a flat look. "You realise my mother has a tendency to straighten my tie, right?"

Amedeo fluttered his eyelashes in the best interpretation of innocence he could manage. "Learn to knot them properly?"

His lover huffed with exasperation, then bowed his head to kiss him, a bit awkwardly. "Keep up that mood," Guillaume told him, "if you can hold that through the press announcement, I don't think you'll have any trouble."

***

As far as Hell went, Amedeo was coming fairly close to experiencing his own personal version right now.

It had seemed like such a perfect opportunity. A touring exhibition of Luxembourgian contemporary painters that had long been scheduled to open in the Royal Museum of Fine Arts in Brussels? It hadn't taken much for Amedeo to convince Philippe to let him take care of that appointment. And suggesting to Guillaume to come instead of his father had been just as simple; it was an ideal chance for the two of them to appear in public together for the first time since their engagement announcement two weeks ago.

They'd both been looking forward to it for days now, coupled with a growing apprehension about presenting the right image. Speeches had been rehearsed until Amedeo could have held Guillaume's and vice versa, the schedule had been planned down to the last minute and they'd even coordinated their ties (to make sure it didn't look like they'd done so but the colours and patterns didn't clash, either).

Everything went as it was supposed to. They arrived with plenty of time to spare to have a look around and prepare for the tour through the exhibition, then had a few minutes to ready themselves before they'd be announced.

News of the catastrophe arrived in the shape of the exhibition's curator, who looked in on them with a thoroughly confused expression on his face. "Prince Amedeo... we hadn't been told that Princess Astrid would be here as well. Do you know whether she will be taking an official part in the ceremony?"

If the man had hauled back and punched him, it couldn't have come as a greater shock.

"I wasn't aware that she was planning to attend," he managed, catching Guillaume's surprised look from the other side of the room.

"We haven't been told about it either. That is, we heard last week it would be Princess Astrid to open our exhibition, but then we received the notification that you and Prince Guillaume would take over." The curator looked at him. "Could it have been a mix-up?"

It had to be. A thrice-damned schedule confusion, because first it had been Laurent who'd been supposed to attend before he'd cancelled, then Amedeo's mother had moved into the slot before the final rearrangement to let Amedeo and Guillaume do this.

"We'll deal with it," Guillaume said, coming to stand at Amedeo's side. "Why don't you ask Princess Astrid to take a seat and see whether she wants to take over? We'll of course step back in that case, and just attend as visitors."

The curator nodded. "That might be the best way. I'll speak to her, and we'll start in a few minutes?"

"That sounds good, just give us a moment," Amedeo said, barely keeping up a pleasantly bland expression until the man left and shut the door behind himself.

Guillaume turned towards him immediately. "Did you have any idea she'd come?" he asked, eyes wide.

"Of course not! Do you think I'd be here... do you think I'd have brought _you_ here if I'd known? Guillaume, she's managed to avoid being in the same building with me ever since I told her about us, I can't even imagine what she's going to do once she finds out."

"Surely she won't make a scene?"

"How would I know?" Amedeo asked, nervously reaching up and running a hand through his hair. "Normally I'd say she'll sit still and just wait it out, but these aren't normal circumstances."

If his mother walked out now... He didn't even want to imagine what the press would make of it if they got wind that she wasn't pleased by his choices. This was a private matter, between her and him and Guillaume, it simply couldn't end up splashed on tabloid pages for five minutes' worth of entertainment.

But surely she couldn't want that either, could she? Whatever she might think about him and Guillaume, Amedeo couldn't imagine she would drag it out into the media.

"Come on," Guillaume said quietly and laid his hand on Amedeo's shoulder. "We can't hide in here until it's over."

"Why not?" Amedeo attempted with a forced smile, but didn't resist when Guillaume steered him towards the door.

It took a huge effort to pretend everything was well as they walked to their front row seats. His mother was there already, and from the looks of it she'd been told by now that the two of them were in attendance as well.

"Amedeo," she said, her face more formal than usual but still convincing, though she was completely ignoring Guillaume. "A schedule confusion, I understand?"

He nodded, torn between the joy of having her talk to him again, even if only a few words, and the desperate wish for her to say more and tell him that she finally understood, that she wasn't still upset and angry with him. "I'm afraid so," he told her, only too aware that the people around them were listening. "Shall we go ahead, or would you like to do it?"

His mother glanced at him, and for a moment he could see the same look in her eyes she'd had when he'd gone through his first public appearance as a royal representative and she'd accompanied him. She'd been proud of him then, and for an instant she seemed to be so now, too. If only he could have fooled himself into believing that it wasn't only because he was successfully playing his role in public according to her standards.

"I'm sure you've prepared thoroughly," she said, "so I'll leave it to you."

They took their seats, Amedeo between his mother and Guillaume, and he barely dared to move while they listened to the welcoming speech of the museum's director. If anyone had asked him, Amedeo couldn't have repeated a word of what the man was saying.

Their turn came eventually and they rose to walk up to the podium together.

They'd long discussed whether they wanted to make some sort of gesture to show the change in their relationship now that the public announcement was over and dealt with. In the end they'd decided tentatively in favour of it, if the mood turned out to be right.

It couldn't have been any worse, not with his mother in the front row, watching every move they made. Amedeo briefly met her eyes, saw the disapproval - and defiantly threw caution to the wind. He felt Guillaume startle in surprise when he reached for his hand, a small but definitely visible touch. It only lasted for a few seconds before they had to let go again so they could give their speeches. Guillaume came first, and Amedeo carefully kept his eyes on him rather than look at the audience and see his mother's reaction, no matter how much he wanted to know.

He was proud of Guillaume, he was proud of _them_ and the fact that they were standing here together without having to make a secret of it any longer. He just wished she could feel the same.

His speech was the last before the tour through the exhibition would start, so he'd decided to keep it short. A quick mention of how good it was to have Luxembourgian art shown here in Belgium, a few words on past cooperations in a similar vein. Wrapping it up, he finally looked at his mother, whose face was a complete blank.

"I thank you all for being here today," he said firmly, "and I hope we'll see more cooperations of this nature in the future. I am certain you'll find this exhibit a fascinating demonstration of common features in Belgian and Luxembourgian trends in current projects. On that note, I will leave the art to speak for itself, and wish you a very good time."

They moved through the exhibit with the crowd and listened with practised attention as the curator explained the artworks and the background facts. The tour, together with a bit of mingling with the guests, kept them occupied for the better part of an hour, all the time focused on being proper representative royalty.

Throughout the tour he tried to see whether he couldn't spot his mother, just to know how she had taken it all and whether there was at least a little chance of a reconciliation within reach. But by the time he had a moment to breathe and look around, she was already gone.

***

Once he heard about it, Amedeo could have kissed whoever had convinced Guillaume that Monaco would be a great opportunity for their first official trip together outside their home countries. An appearance at an event in honour of World Aids Day wasn’t the most conspicuous, but with William and Carl there as well, they’d probably fade into the background anyway.

"It's absolutely ideal," he told Marie, Guillaume's personal assistant, while they waited in the office together for him to come back from his morning appointment with his father. (Or rather, Amedeo waited while Marie went through her tasks of keeping Guillaume's official life running smoothly.) "A brief trip, just a few days, a gala that's low on formalities and full of interesting people to distract the media, and on top of that William and Carl Philip are there as well, so there's a far more fascinating couple for everyone to look at. It really is perfect."

"You haven't looked at his intended schedule yet," Marie said and handed him a sheet of paper covered in Guillaume's neat handwriting. "Best if you don't make any plans for time off, because he isn't expecting to have any. He is just as bad as the Grand Duke was at that age, only he learned from it eventually. With the Hereditary Grand Duke we'll have to wait and see."

Amedeo quickly scanned the list, a deepening frown on his face. "How much of this is official?" he asked.

Marie shrugged. "Official? Just the gala."

"And the rest?"

She made the sort of exasperated sound only someone who'd known Guillaume for years could manage. "That's him feeling like he's not doing enough. None of those meetings have been requested, they're all his idea. I'm going to have to see whether anyone actually has the time for it on such short notice. But if they don't, he's going to come up with something else just so he won't feel guilty over being gone for a day or two."

They shared a commiserating look.

"I can try to talk him out of it," Amedeo said slowly. "I mean, it's not like he's not working hard enough."

"Quite the opposite," Marie agreed. "But you're not going to manage to do that. You and I know those meetings aren't anything more than handshakes and a few words with people who won't care less, but he's never going to admit that he won't actually ruin anything if, God beware, he takes a day or two off."

Amedeo flashed her a grin. "Want to bet?"

She looked at him, eyes narrowed. "When one of my boys gets that expression, I know he's up to something. Do I want to know?"

He smiled at her suspicious expression. "Probably not."

In the end, convincing Guillaume that they should not overwhelm themselves on their first trip was mostly a matter of choosing the right moment to suggest the idea to him. Like late at night, when they were both comfortably curled up in bed together after he'd finally managed to pry Guillaume away from his notes on a potential representative job two months in the future.

Perhaps it wasn't entirely _fair_ , but Amedeo consoled himself that he was doing this with the best intentions for Guillaume's well-being in mind. His lover worked too hard, that much was obvious, and when even his assistant - not to mention his parents - agreed on that, something simply had to be done. And as Guillaume's prince consort (or prince-consort-in-training, at the moment) Amedeo figured it was his job to make sure Guillaume, in turn, would be able to do his own job without the risk of collapsing under a too heavy load.

"If you really think so..." Guillaume murmured, tilting his head upwards a little, and Amedeo seized the opportunity and made use of the unconscious gesture before his lover could remember to be protective of his neck. It was always intriguing to see whether his need for propriety or the sheer enjoyment of having that sensitive spot given all due attention would win out; right now, Amedeo had the feeling it was going to be the latter.

"I think so," he whispered back, punctuating his words with a sharp nip before kissing it better. It wasn't that he didn't know how important Guillaume's work was and that cutting ribbons and shaking hands was only the tip of the iceberg. Amedeo had his own growing projects, and the coming months would be filled with pulling double duty for his old and his new country. But while he'd held a regular job where it had been necessary to learn the trick of balancing work and life, Guillaume seemed to have missed that lesson somewhere along the way.

Amedeo would just have to remind him that sometimes it was acceptable to stop being the Hereditary Grand Duke and simply be Guillaume. There were too many frightening examples of burn-out among their peers, he didn't intend to see his lover the last one on a long list.

In the end, he won; both of them did, really, though Guillaume might not see it that way. The schedule was cleared out and with the help of Marie, Amedeo managed to make sure they'd have a three-day trip in total so they would have the chance to take a breather from travelling in the middle.

Monaco turned out somewhat differently than expected. Amedeo had been at his share of royal events over the years, with a sharp increase in their numbers over the past year, and he'd thought he knew what they'd be dealing with. Charity galas tended to run along a certain pattern and he was ready to do his best, focus on the good cause, and pretend he was actually having a good time and not bored by the official attempts at entertainment. The fun usually lay in the informal stretches of time in-between when there was the chance to chat and mingle.

This time, however, Prince Albert and Princess Caroline were the only ones to hold speeches, and especially Monaco’s Hereditary Princess did it with enough flair to keep it entertaining even with the serious topic. Far more effective in making everyone focus on the importance of World Aids Day, as far as Amedeo was concerned, and for once he felt absolutely genuine about applauding her efforts. The real point wasn't the speech anyway; that was there to give the event a framework, and to give the press some sound bytes to use while they showed the guests. The more interesting those were, the more press coverage and the more general public awareness of the gala's topic. The Monegasque approach might be a little unorthodox, but Amedeo was sure everyone would be happy to come back next year, and bring one or two well-known friends along so the next gala would have even more attention and, as a final result, donations to the cause. It left him with some intriguing food for thought where his own patronages were concerned.

"You just have to rub it in that you stole my boyfriend, don't you?" were some of the first words he heard as soon as the party turned press-free and everyone ditched the formalities.

Amedeo turned around, a wide smile on his face. "Theodora, my dear, of course," he teased. "Don't be a sore loser about the fact you simply don't have what it takes."

Her blue eyes flicked downwards in a pointed gesture. "No, that I don't," she said dryly before leaning in to peck him on the cheek. "Congratulations on finally going official. And I'm still cross with you for poaching my prince, just so you know."

"We'll meet at dawn in the palace gardens," Amedeo declared. "I'll even let you choose the weapons."

Theodora's grin turned feral. "Don't think I'll be satisfied just to draw blood."

Laughing, he reached for her hand and bowed over it to deliver a kiss, perfect in form. "Whatever pleases you, my dear lady."

"Your fiancé might protest that," she told him, an amused glint in her eyes as she retrieved her hand.

"Protest what?" Guillaume asked, coming up to join them, and to his credit he didn't do anything but flinch minutely when Amedeo slid an arm around his waist in a seemingly casual move which was anything but.

Theodora's expression turned perfectly innocent. "The things I could do to Amedeo if I decide that he owes me satisfaction."

Guillaume stared at her for a moment, turned to look at Amedeo, then back at her, clearly at a loss for words.

"Don't worry, love," Amedeo said, leaning down to place a kiss on his temple. "She may be feisty, but I'm fairly sure I can fend her off if it ever comes to it."

He felt Guillaume relax a little against him and made a mental note to keep up the small touches and gestures for the evening to get him used to it (and certainly not because it was simply _good_ to be able to do this in front of other people and show them that Guillaume was _his_ ). They were still in the process of figuring out the limits of acceptability where public displays of affection during their official duties were concerned, and this was the first opportunity without the risk of cameras.

They'd only made a handful of public appearances together so far, and while Amedeo understood that it simply wasn't diplomatic for them to do so under most circumstances as long as they weren't married, he still chafed at the restriction. Of course they had considered this point in their planning, but there was a difference between theory and practise when it came to constantly juggling your national affiliations and loyalties. Amedeo was just glad he didn't have to preside over any sports events between Belgium and Luxembourg right now, or he'd be at a complete loss for what to do.

For most of the party Amedeo stayed at Guillaume's side, partly because it simply felt comfortable to do so, and also because he was only too well aware how it made matters easier for his lover now that they were all being casual and expected to mingle. So far, he was still waiting for Guillaume to figure out that being diplomatically brilliant and being on familiar terms with someone weren't mutually exclusive. Guillaume managed it during family gatherings, after all, so surely it had to be possible. Maybe a reminder that he was, for all intends and purposes, related to practically everyone in the royal circles anyway so he might just treat them like the cousins they all were.

When he was by himself for a moment, off to collect another Mai Tai - he blamed his exile in New Zealand for that, the stuff had grown on him there when he'd never liked it before - from the bar, he noticed something odd while he was waiting.

Amedeo had never really given much thought to what sort of relationship Andrea Casiraghi and his perennial girlfriend had, but unless the bartender really hadn't skimped on the rum in his last cocktail and he was seeing things, Tatiana had just kissed Philippos, and it hadn't looked like just a friendly gesture.

Blinking, he looked again and watched with growing confusion as she gave Theodora’s brother a cheerful wave, then made a beeline for Theodora. Amedeo wasn't entirely certain, but it almost looked as though those two didn't greet each other with just a kiss on the cheek either.

Monaco was turning out to be more interesting than he'd thought.

The bartender was just putting the finishing touches on his Mai Tai when she approached, a nonchalant look on her face that was only slightly offset by the jaunty pirate headband she was wearing.

Before Amedeo had time to figure out an appropriate introduction, Tatiana came up to him, slipped a hand around the back of his neck and pulled him in close for a kiss, and if that was her interpretation of a friendly greeting he couldn't even begin to imagine what she and Andrea had to get up to.

Mercifully she released him before his mind got completely scrambled and studied him, head tilted to the side, the small dangling silver embellishments of her scarf tingling at the gesture. "Oh dear," she murmured. "You're Amedeo, right?"

He blinked, then remembered to nod.

"Hi," she said brightly. "Nice to finally meet you. And sorry for that."

Amedeo was fairly sure they were speaking the same language, but he couldn't make heads or tails of what she was saying. Well, no reason to be impolite; the trick wasn't to understand everything, but to pretend that you were perfectly aware of what was going on even if you had no clue whatsoever.

"Oh, don't apologise," he said, aiming for a smile and tone not quite as flirtatious as with Theodora - who he knew well enough to predict her reactions - and friendly enough to fall on the safe side of the scale. "A Mediterranean-style greeting, shall we say?"

She raised a delicate eyebrow at that. "And what would a Belgian prince know about that?"

"I've got two Italian grandmothers," he said, feeling his way towards slightly safer ground. "One's even from Naples. They may not have taught me much Italian beyond swearing," and wasn't it the best and most satisfying language in the world for that, "but I definitely know about getting kissed on family gatherings. We're all friends here, aren't we?"

Tatiana patted his arm in a sisterly fashion quite in contrast to the way she'd just kissed him. "Perfect. Oh, there's your cousin... excuse me, I've got to get him."

Still confused, he observed as she snogged two more royals in quick succession, then, when he saw her make for Andrea’s younger brother Pierre, he collected his Mai Tai, took a deep swallow, and went to find Guillaume again to provide some protection in case she went that way next or, at the very least, have a prime vantage point from which to view the spectacle that would just have to result.

"I wonder what the result of that kissing competition was," he said a little later, draining the last of his Mai Tai. It was the sort of idea only the Monegasques could come up with: find the best royal kisser, with Andrea and Tatiana as more or less unbiased judges. It was a good thing the photographers had been banned, otherwise Tatiana and Mette-Marit might have attracted some unwanted and mistaken commentary in the morning papers. If the Norwegian Crown Princess didn't score high, Amedeo didn't know who would; even Tatiana had looked impressed.

Guillaume looked at him askance. "Why would you want to know?"

"Well, I want to hear how well I did. It's not like there's going to be any other chance to find out, and they've got a fairly good cross section of royalty here. Tatiana must have kissed all the blue-bloods in the principality who aren't explicitly gay today, she really should be able to tell."

The expression on Guillaume's face slowly turned stony.

"Don't worry," Amedeo told him cheerfully. "I'm not going to ask for a re-match if I'm not happy with my place. Though I won't say no to some practise sessions with you."

"Is that what we're calling it now?" Guillaume asked, the stern mien cracked by the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"What better way to keep things interesting?" Amedeo shot back, then barely caught himself before he could lean in for a kiss. They might be official now, but even in semi-public situations like this one, that would be crossing a line.

Guillaume seemed to share that sentiment, if the quiet sigh coupled with a quick brush of his hand against Amedeo's was any indication. "Later?"

Amedeo gave him a firm nod. "Later, definitely," he confirmed with a suggestive wink, then turned a little more serious. "Do you mind if I abandon you for a little while?"

"Abandon me?"

"Don't worry, no duelling with Theodora or anything," Amedeo assured him. "I'd just like to talk to Carl Philip for a bit, and I don't know whether there'll be an opportunity for that tomorrow."

Guillaume visibly wavered over his response. More unresolved issues on that front? Amedeo didn't think there still were major problems lurking there, but he wasn't entirely certain. "Go on, then. You don't need my permission for that."

"I don't, no," Amedeo agreed. "But that doesn't mean that I don't want to know whether it bugs you too much, though." He paused. "Does it?"

"It's Carl Philip, I doubt he'll attempt to do anything to you," Guillaume said, and Amedeo had the feeling he wasn't the only one his lover attempted to reassure.

Crossing the line, maybe not, but toeing it... He drew Guillaume into a quick embrace, casual but a lot more intimate than just an arm slipped around his waist. "I'll be back before you know it," he said, then released his lover and went off in search for a certain Swedish prince.

He eventually found his target near the back of the room, where a group of stylish leather armchairs and sofas offered a chance for some rest. William was sitting on one of the sofas, his fingers tapping an idle rhythm on the thigh of Carl Philip, perched on the armrest by his side. They seemed to be chatting with Andrea, who was sprawled next to them, long legs tangled up with William's in a way that made Amedeo wonder just how long they'd known each other to be this familiar.

"Oh look, if that isn't Guillaume's Habsburg," Andrea said with a lazy grin. "Let you off the leash, has he?"

Amedeo gave a casual shrug. "We don't really go for that. Collars chafe, you know."

Andrea straightened up a little. He was still in his gala suit but had lost the bow tie somewhere along the way and undone the top buttons of his white shirt. All the kissing, most likely, it just had to be exhausting to dedicate so much effort to all your guests. "And you'd know that, how?"

"That," Amedeo told him, a teasing smirk on his face, "really isn't any of your business."

There was an amused snort from William, and he took it as a sign that he'd hit the right tone. With William and Carl Philip, he wasn't entirely certain yet how to treat them - they were in the same situation he and Guillaume were in, which made them logical allies, aside from all the other factors they had in common. But so far there simply hadn't been any opportunities to get to know them better, something which didn't sit too well with Amedeo. Casual meetings were far too hard to engineer when you had dedicated staff keeping track of your schedule.

"Touché." Andrea raised his glass in a brief salute, ice cubes clinking. "Come, sit down, Wills was just telling us about Harry's latest escapades. It's bound to be highly entertaining."

Amedeo shook his head with a polite smile. "Thanks, but I was actually hoping I could borrow Carl Philip for a moment."

The three men looked at him.

"Why?" Carl Philip asked eventually.

"Don't worry, I'm not planning something sinister," Amedeo assured him, including William and Andrea as well. It didn't take much effort to see that those three had each other's backs if it ever became necessary. This was the sort of support he and Guillaume would need too in the coming months and which they already had from their siblings; with the rest of the royal crowd, they had yet to find out how tightly knit the network was. "I'd just really like to talk to you."

"Gay prince consort to gay prince consort?" Andrea asked idly, and the air around them relaxed noticeably.

Amedeo nodded. "That's about it," he said.

Carl Philip grimaced. "I'm not... really the best person to talk about anything related to Guillaume."

"That's why this isn't about Guillaume," Amedeo told him firmly. "I'm being selfish here. This is about me, because I'm still trying to figure all this out and you're a good year ahead of me on the gay prince consort learning curve."

The three exchanged quick looks, then Carl Philip dropped a kiss on William's head before getting to his feet. "All right. Mind if we take a tour on the terrace? I could use some fresh air."

Amedeo gestured for him to lead the way and followed him across the room and through one of the French doors, out towards the wide balcony overlooking the city down below in a spectacular view of street lamps, moonlight and the Mediterranean Sea. Right now they had the scenery to themselves; even this far south the winter night was cool enough to keep the guests inside.

"You know, I'm still trying to figure out why on Earth you bid for that terrible painting during the charity auction," Carl Philip said in a clear offer to get the conversation going. "It's... I don't have the words for it, I really don't."

Amedeo smirked. "That's the beauty of it, don't you see?"

Carl Philip looked at him expectantly. "Not really, no."

"Someone is bound to pick up the nice ones, so I might as well go for the really spectacularly weird stuff," he explained. "After all, it's not like we're going to start redecorating and actually display anything. I'll just hang on to it for a few years until I can find a new charity to donate it to for an auction, then someone else can have it and pass it along at the next opportunity. Give it a few years and I might actually get a second chance at winning the bid for it."

Shaking his head, Carl Philip bit his lip to keep from grinning. "I'm starting to see Andrea's point about you."

One of these days he'd have to find out whether others actually were warned about Habsburgs outright or if it was just about rumours.

"As if Andrea is such a poster child for normalcy," he drawled, waving his hand dismissively. "And besides, if people are used to me being a bit... eccentric, then it can only be helpful right now."

The look he got from Carl Philip at that was a little too knowing for comfort. "That bad, is it?"

Amedeo shrugged. "I'm not sure I'd call it that. It's just... odd, and I don't know if regular couples get the same attention we do or if it's just because of our circumstances."

"If your case goes anything like it did with Wills and me, the attention's going to taper off pretty soon." Leaning against the railing, Carl looked down into the courtyard, then turned around again to face him. "You're lucky, you know? At least nobody knew about you before, you're a lot less interesting than we are."

"Something I'm really grateful for, believe me." Amedeo stuffed his hands into his coat pockets, dismissing the concerns of distending the fabric in favour of keeping his fingers warm. He hated the cold, he really did, and it was still hours until he could expect to be able to tuck himself against Guillaume for warmth. "How did you handle it in the beginning?"

Carl Philip just shook his head. "There's no way to really deal with it," he said. "And to be honest, I left most of it to Wills and just followed his lead. He's a lot better in that regard than I am."

"Same for me," Amedeo admitted. It was a matter of experience levels as well as of the roles they were expected to play in public to let Guillaume take point whenever they had to handle official attention of some sort.

The other man looked at him, head cocked in consideration. "You just don't have the practise yet, you'll get there. And a word of advice: invite as many royal ladies as possible to your wedding. Then everyone's going to go mad speculating about their appearances, and they'll almost forget about you being the main attraction."

Amedeo glanced at him curiously. "Did that work for you?"

"We had a report from the press staff that there were more pictures of Mette-Marit's fascinator than of our wedding kiss. And that little show-down between Mary... _Crown Princess_ Mary, that is," Carl Philip corrected with a little cough, "and Letizia outside on the steps had everyone's attention while we could have hijacked our carriage and made our escape unobserved if we'd wanted to."

"Thought about it, did you?"

The smile on Carl Philip's face turned wistful. "Maybe. Anyway, my point is that you need to find other things to distract people from the fact you aren't being conventional. Look at Wills and me, we had the wedding, then managed to have an undisturbed honeymoon, and when we came back people were so excited about you and Guillaume that they forgot to care about us for a few days. We could be perfectly normal and go about everyday business by the time they remembered there already is a married pair of princes."

"Somehow I doubt we'll find another couple to go and out themselves as a convenient distraction." Amedeo hunched his shoulders a little when the light breeze from the sea picked up, bringing not only the saltwater smell but also a fresh bout of chill air. "And we're definitely not going to wait until someone shows up. Four years, that's more than enough."

"I'm really impressed you could keep it a secret for so long," Carl Philip admitted. "Not the press, that's entirely possible, but the relatives."

Amedeo sighed. "Two words: long-distance relationship. Well, three words. We've been waiting for years for you and Wills to finally go and get married so we could time our announcement, you know?"

Carl Philip gave him an amused look. "I'm not going to apologise for taking our time," he said. "You could just have gone ahead without waiting for us."

"Like you just said... distractions are just priceless." Amedeo looked down at the city sprawling before them, then glanced at Carl Philip. "How are you dealing with moving away from Sweden?" he asked.

It was something that had been on his mind lately; Belgium and Luxembourg were neighbours, and hardly different where the culture and people were concerned. And he'd lived outside the country for long stretches of time during his life, first for school and university, then for work. But it still felt a little strange to draw a line beneath it all and adopt a new home country and nationality when he'd been raised to faithfully serve as a Belgian prince.

"I've got dual citizenship, they didn't get my passport back," Carl Philip said, folding his arms. "And I'm going to continue to do some duties in Sweden, it's already arranged."

"But you're officially part of the British Royal Family." Who really ought to have their own set of warnings, Amedeo felt; compared to the current crop of Windsors, the Habsburgs looked downright harmless. They only had the occasional morganatic marriage of an archduke and mild dynastic squabbles; the Windsors had Harry and Eugenie, and that was just the beginning.

Carl Philip nodded. "True. Just like foreign princesses for the past thousand years had to change their house affiliation and loyalties, or so it's been pointed out to me by Madde when I complained about it."

"I'd better not go looking for sympathy from the girls?"

"Definitely not," Carl Philip agreed. "Still... surely Belgium isn't giving you up completely? They've got even fewer royals than Sweden, they must be glad for everyone who's able and halfway willing to take care of some of the workload."

"Philippe's making noises in that direction, but we haven't had time yet to really figure it out." They'd have to do so, though; another point on Amedeo's already overflowing schedule.

"Do it if he asks you, it's a great way to stay connected," Carl Philip advised. "Just be prepared for the little elderly ladies who'll tell you it's such a shame you're no longer theirs."

Amedeo grimaced. "I thought that was just a reaction to the news that I'm marrying outside the country," he said. "You're telling me that's not going to be over in a month or two?"

"If you find a way to stop them, tell me. I haven't figured it out yet." Carl Philip gave him an appraising look. "At least you're too tall for them to pinch your cheeks."

"That doesn't keep them from trying." He should have expected it, in a way; he was the first royal of the youngest generation to really do public appearances, and most of the little ladies probably still remembered him as a toddler and simply adjusted their perception a little. As if he didn't have enough grandmothers already.

Below them a door opened and a group of party guests came out, shrugging into their coats as they walked across the courtyard towards the main gate. One of them looked up and waved, then called something about weekends.

"Next month," Carl Philip called back. "The lake ought to be safely frozen by then and perfect for a spin."

More waving, along with the promise of phone calls and e-mails in a jumble of French, English and something Amedeo guessed was probably Swedish. Sorting out languages was always tricky at these events; you could rely on everyone speaking enough English for conversation, but people tended to slip into their most comfortable language whenever they happened to share that with whoever they were talking to at the time.

"Do I want to know what that was about?" Amedeo asked once the group was gone.

"Ever thought about going for a drive on a race track laid out on a frozen lake in Sweden?"

"For some reason, no."

Carl Philip grinned. "In that case, better don't ask. It's one of the nice parts of coming to Monaco, people are a lot more interested in me as a racing driver than they are about the prince part. Or the gay part, for that matter."

"I'm not sure that's enough motivation for me to become a racing driver," Amedeo stated. He wasn't even particularly interested in plain driving; he could do it if he had to, but on the whole he preferred methods of travel which let him get something done while he was in motion.

"Find something else, then. Something that's more important and more interesting. Wills and I are doing it with charities, and it's working fairly well so far. If you can find a project that suits you and focus on it, everyone wins."

Amedeo glanced at him. "When did you become so wise?"

"When ask me to impart sage advice you did, young padawan," Carl Philip shot back in a spot-on imitation. "But seriously, if you need something, you're welcome to give me a call. It's a rather unique position you and I are in."

"So we might as well stick together?" Amedeo asked. It was what he'd hoped to get out of this talk, and it came a lot more easily than he had expected with the history between Guillaume and Carl Philip. "Thanks, it really means something, even though I'm hoping I won't need it."

Carl Philip nodded, then reached up to give him a friendly pat on the shoulder. "That goes for me, too, but you never know."

They stood together a little longer in amicable silence, looking down at the city lights, then Amedeo simply couldn't keep himself from shivering any longer. "Are you staying out here? Because I don't know about you, but I'm freezing."

The admission earned him an amused chuckle. "You just need to build up a tolerance. Well, come on, let's get you back inside in that case. Unless there's something else you want to talk about?"

Amedeo shook his head. "Not right now, no. But I might take you up on your offer."

"That's why I made it," Carl Philip told him, patting his shoulder once more before giving him a gentle shove towards the door.

Once back inside - and blessedly warm again - they had barely closed the balcony door behind them when William was already headed in their direction. The easy way with which Carl Philip collected a kiss from him, not demonstrative or intense but looking like an absolutely natural gesture, left Amedeo almost envious. They'd get there, too, he thought, even if it was bound to take a lot of subtle training to make Guillaume realise that under circumstances like these, it was entirely appropriate behaviour once they were married.

"Sorted everything out, have you?" William asked, looking at the two of them.

Amedeo shot him a cheeky grin. "Your husband is very... accommodating," he said, earning an amused glance from Carl Philip.

"Hands off," William told him flatly. "You've got your own."

"I daresay he's aware of that, love," Carl Philip said. "And you know you have nothing to worry about."

Sliding an arm around his husband's waist, William drew him close. "I know," he answered, mollified, then returned his attention to Amedeo, smiling briefly at his apologetic look. "Carl's told you that you've got our help if you ever need something?"

Amedeo nodded. "I'm... we're really grateful," he corrected himself, figuring he might as well speak for both of them. "And I'm sorry, I didn't mean to cause any trouble."

William's expression turned openly amused. "As if you could. Just remember that Carl's mine, then we'll be fine."

"Do I get a say in that?" Carl asked.

William ducked his head to quickly kiss him. "You want to have a say?"

Carl Philip shrugged, leaning close. "It's not like I'm going to disagree, I'm just asking on principle.”

"I'll just leave you two to it, shall I?" Amedeo said, not bothering to hide his smile. Wills waved dismissively, and he took the hint and wandered off to let them have some time to themselves.

This was why he and Guillaume were doing it all, he thought as he slowly made his way past the groups of party guests to see where his lover had disappeared to. The familiarity, the ease with which those two were treating each other. Guillaume and he still had work ahead of them before they'd reach that point - and the fact that they'd only just begun to share their relationship with friends and family didn't make it easier - but they'd get there.

He finally found Guillaume in one of the smaller salons, happily chatting with Mette-Marit over a shared plate of canapés. That those two got along so well had come as a surprise to him, but he'd had a few chances now to observe them and see that it wasn't just a matter of pleasant small talk but genuine affection. Which, in Amedeo's eyes, was all to the best, because it was proof that Guillaume could be perfectly at home in casual situations with his fellow royals once he remembered to speak to Aunt Margrethe and Cousin Mette-Marit rather than the Queen of Denmark or the Crown Princess of Norway.

"Look at that," Mette-Marit said when she spotted him, "just when we were talking about you."

"Only good things, I hope," Amedeo said, stepping up to Guillaume's side, their shoulders briefly brushing together.

Mette-Marit laughed. "The best. Congratulations again, by the way."

"Thank you," he returned, moving forward to kiss her cheek in thanks and greeting. "Oh, and thank you for your book, too."

She smiled at him. "You're welcome. With princes falling out of the closet everywhere, I'm thinking about a second volume by blue-blooded authors. Care to join in?"

"Anytime," Amedeo promised before Guillaume could be proper and cautious and say anything to the contrary. A collection of accounts of outings and coming to terms with sexual orientations, edited by a princess and future Queen of Norway? He couldn't think of a better way to make some use of their circumstances, and if it took a little effort to convince Guillaume of it... well, there was no reason why they couldn't combine work and pleasure that way.

Mette-Marit clapped her hands in satisfaction. "Perfect," she said. "Now I've got a chance to convince Wills of it, too. Calle I've got already, there's no way that boy would dare say no."

There wasn't much of a way Amedeo would have dared to refuse her either even if he hadn't liked the idea; she was one of those royal women who really had the art of commanding obeisance down pat, and a mother used to resolutely dealing with children on top of it.

She went on to prove her abilities an instant later when she turned to Guillaume and simply told him, "Go find someone else to talk to for a few minutes, I want a few moments with your man."

Guillaume shot her an alarmed look that echoed Amedeo's own reaction. "Why?"

Mette-Marit waved off. "The usual," she said amiably. "Chat with him, ask him about his intentions, threaten to rip his throat out if he does anything to you I don't agree with..." She grinned at their wary expressions. "As if I'd do that. Madde is the one to deliver these sorts of threats, she wouldn't like me to spoil her fun. I promise I'll leave him in one piece, Guillaume, so if you'd be so kind to find me another glass of that fruit wine..."

The request predictably got Guillaume going out of sheer inbred politeness, though he wavered for a few seconds and only left once Amedeo gave him an encouraging nod, along with a suggestive wave of his hand. As if Mette-Marit was going to do anything fearsome - or rather, he corrected himself, anything harmful, since _fearsome_ was something the Nordic princesses in particular managed with frightening ease even when they didn't intend to.

"You know," she said contemplatively once Guillaume was out of earshot, "When he said he had a cousin in New York he wanted to visit, I never thought this was the reason behind it."

Amedeo quirked an eyebrow inquisitively. "This?"

"A relationship. And a serious one at that." She paused, then shook her head. "Though of course it would be serious, it's not like Guillaume even knows the meaning of the word _casual_. During that state visit the Luxembourgers did with us in spring, he mentioned that he wanted a few free days for a private trip, I thought he was making it up so he'd have an excuse for working even more."

"As if I'd have let him." Those far too few days together had been theirs, not to be occupied with work and duty if it was at all possible. Amedeo had turned a blind eye at the handful of genuinely necessary times, but when Guillaume had attempted to sneak some non-urgent files past him, it hadn't taken more than a growled threat to literally toss them out the window to get him to stop. "I know he has demands on his time he can't ignore, but I'm not about to let him forget that he's allowed to have an hour to himself occasionally."

"Only an hour?"

"We're working up to whole days, I don't want to shock him too much." Cocking his head, Amedeo gave her a curious look. "How did you notice that he's doing too much? He's usually rather good at making it look normal unless you keep track of his hours."

"It's hard to miss when you're tasked with entertaining him during a state visit and he constantly disappears. I kept finding him with his nose buried in paperwork." Mette-Marit frowned at the memory and shook her head decisively. "Tell me he isn't still doing that."

Amedeo sighed. "Of course he's still doing it." And he was only beginning to find out just how much it was Guillaume felt personally responsible for. They had always talked about their daily lives even when they'd still lived on different continents, but since Guillaume didn't feel he did too much, it had simply never sounded like that. Amedeo had known that he was pushing himself, but only now that he truly shared Guillaume's life could he see how merciless he was about it without even noticing.

Mette-Marit met his eyes, her expression serious. "You aren't going to let him continue on that road, are you? I was truly worried the last time I had him as my dinner companion, I thought he'd end up face-down in the soup out of sheer exhaustion."

Which might actually be the sort of wake-up call Guillaume needed, but Amedeo hoped it wouldn't go quite that far. "Not if I can help it."

The comment earned him a speculative look. "You're about to marry him, surely you have figured out by now how to convince him?"

Haakon, Amedeo decided absently, was either a very lucky or very brave man to get into bed with this woman when she had her mind set on something.

"I'm working on it," he said with a suggestive smirk. "I know how to distract him, at least."

She looked him up and down in assessment. "I daresay you do," she agreed dryly, her lips twitching with the effort to suppress a laugh. "Let me know if you want me to lend a hand, will you? With making him take some time off, not with... distracting him."

Amedeo had to bite his tongue to keep from making some more than obvious remarks. "I will, thank you. He's just too dutiful for his own good sometimes."

"Heir's disease," Mette-Marit said. "Haakon is the same, but at least he listens to reason most of the... oh look, our dear boy must be concerned that I'm doing unspeakable things to you."

Turning around, Amedeo spotted Guillaume heading towards them, Mette-Marit's requested fruit wine in hand along with his own preferred white.

"Am I allowed back already?" he asked as he offered the glass in his right hand to her.

She nodded at him. "Thank you. And yes, we're practically done anyway."

Guillaume hesitated, then glanced at Amedeo. "Done with what?"

"Consorts' secrets," Amedeo returned.

Mette-Marit nodded sagely in confirmation. "The tips and tricks of our trade. We cannot possibly share them with you heirs, we'd lose our advantages."

They talked a little more before Mette-Marit excused herself. "I've got to find Wills and enlist him for my gay prince project," she said, giving first Amedeo and then Guillaume a peck on the cheek before she left.

"How did your talk with Carl Philip go?" Guillaume asked once they had a moment to themselves.

Amedeo helped himself to Guillaume's wine and took a sip, frowning at the too sweet taste. "It went well," he said. "It's reassuring, in a way, to know that I'm not the only one trying to figure out how all of this works. Though I probably could talk to his brother-in-law as well, Daniel certainly knows how to be a prince consort in this day and age."

Guillaume took his wine back and rolled his eyes, either at Amedeo's lack of appreciation for that boring Muscat or at what he'd said. "You're still concerned about that?"

Was he? Amedeo wasn't entirely sure. He'd prefer to know more about what exactly would be expected of him, as well as about the best way to deal with these expectations. There were too many uncertainties ahead, something he'd never liked when it came to the aspects of his life that really mattered. And if anything mattered, then it was Guillaume.

"I just want to make sure I'm not making this any more complicated than it's already going to be," he said slowly. "If talking to Carl Philip sometimes helps to avoid the occasional mistake, I'd be an idiot not to do so."

His lover's hand on his shoulder came as a surprise; Amedeo had easily kept count of the rare times Guillaume had initiated contact in public between them so far. He didn't _dislike_ it, he just was too cautiously well-mannered about it to do so without at least a bit of prompting.

"You're allowed to make mistakes, you know that, right?" Guillaume asked. "I've told you before, nobody is expecting you to be perfect, and that's got nothing to do with whether you are capable of achieving it or not."

Amedeo was saved from answering by the appearance of Andrea, looking more than a little ruffled by now. He'd also acquired Tatiana's pirate headscarf, now jauntily wrapped around his neck. "Ah, here you two are. Wills thought maybe you'd left already."

"As if we'd sneak out without telling anyone," Amedeo said, noting regretfully that Guillaume's hand immediately fell away from his shoulder. "Or without being good and thanking our dear, gracious host."

Andrea looked at him, eyebrows raised. "Nice manners," he commented. "Unexpected, from a Habsburg. What are you two up to tomorrow?"

At Amedeo's side, Guillaume sighed. "Andrea... he's got a name. Really."

Defence by Guillaume, in response to Andrea's teasing? Amedeo glanced at his lover, then at Andrea, and prudently decided not to risk seeing where this might go, no matter how interesting. He really wasn't sober enough anymore to referee if it got ugly.

"We don't have anything planned in particular, beyond having a look around your little rock," he said, ignoring the looks it got him, amused from Andrea and a little exasperated from Guillaume. "A chance to breathe before we'll fly back the day after tomorrow."

"Great, in that case come and join us for lunch tomorrow? After all, Guillaume," his lover's name was said rather pointedly, making him wonder what the message behind that was, "good behaviour deserves to be rewarded."

"I'm not sure lunch with you-"

Amedeo firmly and not-too-discreetly elbowed him before he could finish that sentence. "Perfect, any particular time you want us to come?" he asked.

Andrea smirked briefly, but mercifully didn't comment. "Sometime around noon," he said. "Just give me a call when you're getting ready to leave. And before you worry, Wills and Carl are going to be there as well if we can get them out of bed." He paused. "Or keep them from getting into bed in the first place, depending on how long this runs on tonight."

***

Lunch turned into breakfast, much to Amedeo's relief, and a casual one at that. Even with last night's party, he hadn't been entirely sure what to expect. But when he found himself comfortably slouched on a sofa in the private wing of the Monegasque Palace, Guillaume by his side (and Guillaume's hand firmly clasped in his own despite his lover's occasional attempts to withdraw), casually chatting with Tatiana, he suddenly had the realisation that this was acceptance into some inner circle they'd been offered. Which he really should have figured out before, but after the party, with too-brief sleep interrupted by highly enjoyable but also highly exhausting lovemaking, his mind wasn't firing on all cylinders quite yet.

"Who won yesterday, anyway?" he asked, running a hand through his hair to tame it into some semblance of order. He'd attempted to sort it out earlier, but it seemed to revert to a tousled mess almost immediately. "The kissing, I mean."

From the second sofa on the other side of the low table, Tatiana grinned at him. "And why do you want to know that?"

"Why wouldn't I want to know?" he replied.

"Confident, are you?" Tatiana stretched out her leg and nudged Andrea's thigh with her bare foot, drawing his attention away from his chat with Carl Philip and towards her. "You were right," she told him. "He's asking."

Andrea laughed and reached for her hand. "Of course he is," he said, bringing her fingers to his mouth for a quick kiss. Smiling, she laid her hand against his cheek in a gentle caress, then returned her attention to Amedeo.

"We had a vote," she said. "At... sometime in the morning. Andrea won."

"By virtue of simply having kissed the most people among us," Carl added, having caught on too. "It's hardly been a fair competition."

"Why, if you want a re-match..." Andrea drawled. "You're welcome to start trying to convince people of your qualities any time you want. Besides, you only lost by one vote, if you'd called Harry and gotten him to confirm your abilities..."

Carl Philip made a face. "Don't remind me," he said darkly.

Andrea smiled, then leaned towards him and gave him a friendly kiss on the mouth, which just _had_ to be a matter of Mediterranean expressiveness, especially since Wills was observing with a serene smile on his face. "I won't, don't worry. Just admit your defeat."

By now Amedeo wasn't sure anymore what to make of all this. He'd expected this get-together to be casual, but this was far beyond that and while he didn't mind the atmosphere, he had the uneasy feeling he was missing something. Guillaume, in conversation with William, wasn't entirely at ease either; Amedeo could feel his tension through their joined hands.

He listened to the banter between Carl Philip and Andrea a little longer and eventually cleared his throat to get their attention when it still failed to make any sense.

"Sorry to interrupt your fun," he said when the conversations around him fell silent and everybody looked at him, "but... seriously, what's this all about?"

Andrea and Tatiana exchanged quick glances, then Tatiana threw William a pointed look, accompanied by an inviting gesture. "It's your project," she said, "you can go explain this time, I've already tried with Guillaume."

"And I'm still not completely sure what you were telling me," Guillaume added. It had to have been sometime earlier today, Amedeo decided, or his lover would have shared it with him by now.

"Well," Wills said, "What it comes down to is that it's about getting assistance from your peer group when necessary."

The way Wills emphasized the last bits, and how Guillaume suddenly tensed up completely for an instant before minutely relaxing again, Amedeo suspected that sentence meant more than just the obvious to him, but he couldn't decipher the added layers.

"That's why I wanted to talk to Carl yesterday," Amedeo said. "Thanks again, by the way, it really helped."

He received a nod from Carl in response, along with a quick smile.

"And that's the idea," William told him, straightening some more and turning more fully towards him. "You had some questions you needed answered, and Carl was able to help you out. Next time it might be someone else who'll need help or support of some sort, with something that's too specific or too sensitive to discuss with anyone outside the royal circle, so it's important to keep up those connections."

"Which some ruling families have done, and some haven't," Andrea interjected, absolutely serious for once. "Or haven't been able to form in the first place."

"Exactly," William agreed. "Andrea, Carl and I had a few talks about it, and it's simply obvious how important this is going to be in all our futures. There are bound to be times when it's going to matter whether there's someone who can lend a hand who also understands the whole situation. Or just a sympathetic ear at times, or a chance to get away for a day or two."

Amedeo nodded slowly. "You won't hear any disagreement from me on that," he said. "And if there's anything I..." he exchanged a quick glance with Guillaume to ask for and receive his agreement, and corrected himself, "we can offer at any point, it's there for the taking."

"Good to know," William told them. "Because the more of us there are of the next generation who stick together, the better. Ten years ago it was all about Mette-Marit and Máxima being unconventional, this time it's about us: about gay heirs to thrones and pirate ancestors. If there's internal support among us, it's going to be a lot easier to handle it all where the rest of the world is concerned."

Which only made sense; if any of them got snubbed by their own peer group, the sentiment would be picked up and amplified, and the same was true for the other direction as well. Royal circles were traditional circles to a large extent; the older generations usually were indulgent where the coming ones were concerned, but they didn't like for anyone to rock the boat. If they could manage to build a network among the heirs and their spouses and siblings, that might make the difference.

It was what Amedeo had been aiming for in his attempts to maintain good relations with the others. He just never had thought to take it to the next level and actually organise it in some way, but William obviously was willing to think on a bigger scale. And he, of all people, would have to, Amedeo realised, with the British reluctance to maintain contact with their continental peers. If they could create more chances to actually get to know the people behind the titles and move beyond the stage of casual acquaintances, so they could actually _count_ on each other... it was more than worth the effort.

"What exactly do you have in mind, then?" he asked of no-one in particular. "Occasional get-togethers like this, whenever we get thrown together for some event? That doesn't sound like it would be enough."

"With a bit of effort, we're bound to run into each other every few months at least," William said. "Christenings, weddings, birthdays... you know how it goes."

"Not so far, actually, I'm still relatively new to the royal party circuit. But I get what you mean. And beyond that?" At his side, Guillaume was listening attentively but stayed silent for now, and Amedeo could practically see him put this all together, along with the past discussions the two of them had had about staying on good terms with everyone. Amedeo briefly squeezed his hand and received a quick glance in return that promised they'd have a long talk about all this later so they could share their thoughts on the matter.

"Beyond that,” William continued, “we keep in touch, and if anything comes up... well, in that case, we know who we can go to."

Amedeo nodded. "It really is a great idea," he said. "Thank you for involving us. And if there's anything we can do to help anyone out... well, we'd better exchange private phone numbers later."

Andrea smirked. "You might regret that the first time you've got Harry on your doorstep because Alex is sending him off to cool his heels for a few days," he said. "Word of advice if that comes up? Keep him away from the hard liquor, he gets friendly when he's drunk. And I mean _really_ friendly."

Carl shuddered visibly. "Definitely keep that in mind," he agreed.

***

Throughout December, Amedeo remained cautiously optimistic where Christmas was concerned. It had always been a family celebration; Christmas Eve with parents and siblings, followed by Christmas Day together with grandparents, uncles, aunts and cousins and random visits from more distant relatives on the days until New Year. Perhaps, he hoped, his mother would show mercy, revoke her prohibitions and allow him to come home.

In the week before Christmas, his siblings were gradually returning to Brussels, and still he didn't hear anything official. But he knew how busy those last few working days before the break at the end of the year were for everyone, so he didn't give up hope just yet.

"I can simply ask whether you're expected here," Maria Laura offered when they spoke on the phone. "It's not like it's an unreasonable question."

Amedeo sighed. "Don't," he said. "I don't want you to get drawn into this. And I've got to play this by the rules Mama laid down if I want to stand a chance. I can't make the first move, that much she's made absolutely clear."

And even if she hadn't been the one to refuse contact, what could he have done? He wasn't going to back down over Guillaume, and while he was willing to do practically anything else she asked, he knew that nothing else mattered.

"At least come to Brussels," his sister suggested. "Uncle Philippe surely won't mind to put you up for a day or two, and once Mama knows that you're at Laeken... it's a lot easier for her to ignore you while you are in another country. Out of sight, out of mind, and all that."

The idea made sense, and even more, it solved the dilemma for him of where to spend Christmas. Guillaume's parents had made it clear that he needn't have any doubts whether he was welcome, and it would have been the easiest path. But it would also have come across as a clear statement towards his mother as to where his priorities lay, and that was exactly what he was trying to avoid. He didn't want to choose either her or Guillaume; he wanted to have both of them in his life, and he didn't dare to make any move that might damage his already precarious standing with his mother.

Guillaume understood his decision when they talked it through, and Amedeo felt a lot easier to have his agreement that it was the best thing to do. He kept second-guessing himself about every step he took in this matter, and while he was painfully aware of it, he also couldn't bring himself to stop doing so. Fortunately for him, Guillaume didn't mind to be used as a sounding board and knew to make all the right noises and gestures while he listened to Amedeo work through the problem.

"It's a good way to make it clear you aren't turning away," Guillaume commented after he'd run it all past his lover once more, the night before he was due to leave for Brussels. "You'll be there, it's the most you can do to make it all easier on both of you."

"I'm just praying it's going to be enough. There really isn't anything else I can think of to solve this, and I'm simply tired of it all." Drawing up the blankets around them, Amedeo snuggled closer and did his best to focus on Guillaume's presence in the darkness. They should have been asleep a long time ago, but he was too wired to even try.

The fact that he was keeping Guillaume up as well nagged at him uncomfortably; Amedeo's own days had been stressful enough these past weeks, but he'd still left later in the morning than Guillaume, and come back earlier. But when he'd attempted to pretend to drift off to sleep so Guillaume wouldn't feel like he had to stay awake as well, his lover had easily called the bluff.

"It didn't fool me when you were four," he'd said, "And it's definitely not going to work now that I know what you sound like when you're genuinely asleep, so stop bothering and talk to me."

It was well past midnight when Guillaume finally drifted off while listening, after Amedeo had been careful to let his voice gradually go quiet and lengthen the pauses. If only it were easier, Amedeo thought as he carefully worked his arm around his lover and tucked himself close. With all the other complications their relationship brought in its novelty to this particular setting, he really could have done without these added complications, especially since these struck far too close to home and it took so much energy he simply couldn't spare right now.

Sleep didn't come for him that night and eluded him even on the train ride up north to Brussels where he almost always managed to nod off for an hour or two. A blessing in disguise as it turned out, because when he arrived at Laeken and heard from Mathilde that there still was no word from his mother as to whether he was allowed to join in for the Christmas Eve celebrations two days later, he could barely feel the disappointment in his growing exhaustion.

He spent the following days with his little cousins, letting them beat him at Monopoly (which took some effort on his part to ignore basic financial principles that had been drilled into him for years) and chess (which was shockingly easy because he simply couldn't concentrate enough to provide a decent challenge to a nine-year-old). Easy distraction for which he was more than grateful the closer it got to Christmas Eve without any news. As long as he could focus on keeping the children entertained and at the same time give Philippe and Mathilde a chance for some rest, it at least let him feel useful. Besides, it was genuinely fun to play with them and see them pleased at having the attention of their oldest cousin.

On Christmas Eve, night fell to a resounding silence from his mother, and when Mathilde quietly suggested that he should have dinner with them and see about all other plans later he agreed, his heart heavy. Maybe it was foolish of him to keep on hoping, but he had to try, if only because he'd never stop wondering otherwise whether it wouldn't have changed something.

He wished he could make the first step. If it had just been a matter of pride, it would have been easy - after all, who cared about losing face when it was within the family and in exchange for something which counted for a lot more. But his mother was demanding that he admit his relationship with Guillaume was either wrong or not important enough to continue, and he couldn't do that, even when he knew that, in her eyes, she was trying to force him to do what was best for him.

During dinner he managed to keep a smile on his face, grateful that Philippe and Mathilde left him mostly alone with his thoughts. Instead he focused on his cousins and their excitement at the prospect of midnight mass, and did his best to solemnly agree with them that it certainly was a sign that they were growing up.

"Thank you," he told Philippe in a low voice when they had a moment where the children weren't listening. "I know you didn't have to do this."

His uncle just shook his head. "Don't thank me. We've had enough strained Christmases in the family over the years and nobody wants a repeat of those times, so we won't let it go that far. Besides, you're keeping our gang of little rascals entertained, so you've earned your keep."

They didn't see Amedeo's parents and siblings on the way to mass, but when they arrived at the little church that had been picked for the Royal Family's attendance this year and made their way to the front pews, he saw that they were there already, bundled up in their winter coats against the chill air like everyone around them. Maria Laura, holding Laetitia's gloved hand in her own, gave him a little wave when she spotted him, then whispered something to Joachim that made him turn his head, nod, and come towards Amedeo.

"We've been hoping you'd show up," his brother said as they went through the obligatory salutary shoulder pats, his voice pitched low enough that only Amedeo heard what he was saying. "And Laura says to tell you that you need to stand with us, not Philippe, or you're not going to like what the press is going to have to say tomorrow."

Amedeo froze for a moment, then pinched the bridge of his nose in an attempt to wake himself up a little. He should have thought of this himself and not needed his siblings to involve themselves in this mess just to remind him of something so basic. Of course it would look odd if he were the only one of his immediate family to stand with Philippe and Mathilde. Of course people would wonder. And of course someone would take a picture and begin speculations. Speculations which were bound to turn ugly no matter which way they went, and which he and Guillaume could not afford at this time.

He followed Joachim into the front pew to the left, grateful when he had both his brother and Luisa as a buffer between him and his mother. That way he stood a small chance to actually focus on what was going on around him, and didn't need to worry so much whether his composure and self-control were going to be up to the challenge.

Christmas Mass always was a pleasant experience, far enough removed from staunch, traditional Catholicism that Amedeo felt comfortable attending despite his personal choices that brought him into conflict with more than a few aspects of strict interpretations of his faith. This was less about adherence to rules and more about celebrating, so clearly reflected in the atmosphere. There was something special about it every year, to sit in the almost-darkness with others and hear the Nativity read out loud, the priest's voice echoing in the vast space. Through the opened doors, the air currents carried the scent of snow, mingled with that of wax from the candles. Even the frosty temperature had its place; the sensation of wearing warm gloves was a part of this, in Amedeo's mind, just like the steaming mug of mulled wine afterwards.

His favourite part, though, had always been the candles. He'd collected his at the doorway when they'd arrived and now watched as the priest lit a thin taper from the Paschal candle, then came forward to share the flame with Amedeo's grandparents, sitting next to Philippe on the other side of the nave with their own candles. He watched them pass the fire to his uncle, who carefully lit the candles of Amedeo's cousins in turn and helped them share with the people in the pew behind them.

Meanwhile, the priest had come over to the left side of the church and offered the fire to Amedeo's parents. Their candles lit, they passed the flame to Joachim and Laura on either side, and Amedeo barely dared to breathe as his mother carefully leaned across Joachim to light the candle of Luisa, who sat next to him.

For a few seconds she was focused on the task, sheltering the fire with her cupped hand until the wick caught. Nodding in satisfaction, she then looked up and her eyes met Amedeo's.

It was a leap of faith that made him hold out his candle towards her.

For what felt like an eternity his mother hesitated. Then she lit his candle with the same care as those of his siblings.

"Merry Christmas, Amedeo," she quietly said.

***

He returned to Luxembourg two days later, his heart considerably lighter after his mother's peace offering. It wasn't all well - they had yet to go beyond cautious small talk - but at least she'd lifted the prohibitions regarding the contact to his brother and sisters. A first step, and now that it had been made, Amedeo held new hope that if she just had enough time, she could perhaps accept her son's choices one day.

"Grandfather is quite pleased," he told Guillaume as they walked side by side along one of the narrow gravel paths surrounding Berg Castle, bundled up in their winter gear against the freezing temperatures. Normally, Amedeo would have protested the suggestion of voluntarily venturing outside under such Arctic conditions, but he was quietly hopeful that it might help to clear Guillaume’s head of the last aftereffects of brotherly bonding with Félix. Whatever those two had been up to while Amedeo had been gone had left Guillaume still faintly hungover even four days later. "He's still convinced I'm finally showing royal ambition and that it's all a cunning plan to usurp Luxembourg."

"Instead of Belgium?" Guillaume shook his head, clearly amused by the whole idea. "He's aware you're constitutionally deprived of all legal influence, right?"

"I think the idea is to keep you wrapped around my finger so I'll be the éminence grise," Amedeo said, grimacing at the mere idea. If there was one thing his years as Philippe's heir had proven to him, it was that he didn't want that sort of responsibility if he could at all avoid it. "As if I'd want to bother. I'm perfectly happy with the idea of supporting you, thank you very much."

Guillaume glanced at him, his breath visible in the chill air. "You are? I know we've never talked about it directly but-"

"I am," Amedeo interrupted firmly before Guillaume could begin to overthink it all. "I know how this works, love, it's not as if I've got any illusions about it. I'm not interested in being the power behind your throne. Or on your throne, for that matter. It's a good thing I live in the here and now, five centuries ago I'd have been practically required to attempt a coup in Belgium as the stilted heir, and I'd have been absolutely lousy at it."

"As long as it's enough for you to-"

"Guillaume." Once again Amedeo interrupted him, and waited until his lover turned his head to look at him. "I'm not settling for second best here. Life with you, at your side, is what I've _chosen_ , and not for a lack of other options. I'm not some medieval princess desperately in need of a suitable husband who thinks of marriage as a necessary step. I'm marrying you because I want to, not because I have to, and I'm smart enough to know what it entails."

They walked in silence for a minute, the only sound the crunch of their boots on the hard-frozen snow.

"Grandfather had something to say about that too, of course," Amedeo said eventually in an attempt to draw Guillaume into talking again. "There was some muttering about necessary sacrifices for the greater good. Sleeping with you is such a terrible hardship, after all."

Guillaume looked at him, eyebrows raised, but with a definite hint of amused interest rather than the little frown he wore whenever he started to brood over something. "Is it, now."

Amedeo slipped an arm around his shoulders to draw him close and gave him a peck on the cheek. "Truly terrible. Just thinking about it keeps me up all night."

"So what was it about when you practically tackled me into bed last night?" Guillaume wanted to know.

"A temporary lapse of sanity," Amedeo deadpanned. "Stockholm syndrome, you know how it goes. Tragic."

"You ripped two buttons off my shirt in your rush to get me naked."

"Only two?" Amedeo asked in fake dismay. "I'm going to have to practise, it seems."

"Not on my shirts, you won't."

Amedeo blinked at him innocently. "Would you rather I practise on Andrea's? I'm sure he'd let me if I asked nicely. Royal support network and all that-"

Before he could react, Guillaume caught him by the lapels of his woollen coat and pulled him down into a possessive kiss. "Don't even think about it," he growled, claiming Amedeo's mouth again before he could manage a reply.

Not that he _wanted_ to when he could be kissing his lover instead. They were gradually getting better at subconsciously accepting that it was no longer necessary to seize every available opportunity for sex, now that they actually lived together and didn't have to go weeks between visits. But bypassing a chance for some lazy kissing... Amedeo sighed contentedly as they settled comfortably against each other, and slipped his hands into Guillaume's coat pockets to keep them warm and draw his lover close at the same time.

No, he didn't think he was going to waste an opportunity like this anytime soon.

It was the icy wind, more than anything, that eventually drove them on to complete their walk and return to the castle. Amedeo surreptitiously checked his watch on the way back to see how long they'd been gone, then rewarded himself with a quick kiss to Guillaume's temple when he was sure enough time had passed for Alexandra to take care of her part of their little sneak attack. Half an hour, that should have given her a decent chance at collecting all the half-finished project work Guillaume had brought home for the far too few days he'd allowed himself as a Christmas break.

There was little point in arguing about his workload, Amedeo knew by now, even though he sometimes simply ran out of patience. Subtlety made for a much better approach most of the time. Even Guillaume hadn't been conscientious and dutiful enough to get started on his work on Christmas Day, so his briefcase still stood next to his desk, filled with print-outs and notes and Guillaume's work laptop with all the digital copies of his files. And if, by some mischance, someone happened to move said briefcase to some other place where it wasn't immediately visible and didn't attract attention... Amedeo had been careful to check with Marie whether there was anything urgent among those files, and once he'd received her confirmation that everything could wait another week and, even more importantly, that there'd be enough time to take care of it once Guillaume came back to work after New Year, he'd enlisted Alexandra and made his move.

"No, I haven't seen your files," he answered truthfully late the same evening when Guillaume succumbed to his work addiction for the first time since Amedeo had come back from Brussels.

Standing in the middle of his study, Guillaume turned around, a frown on his face. "I could have sworn I brought them with me," he said.

Leaning against the door frame, arms folded, Amedeo watched him search for a minute before he decided to put a stop to it. "Do I need to remind you that you said you'd rest for a few days?" he asked.

Guillaume glanced at him, then continued shuffling through the folders on his desk. "I just want to put in some reading."

"And why," Amedeo asked sweetly, "would you need your work files for that?"

He received a suspicious frown in response. "There's a lot to do in January, I need to get a head start on everything. Right now I have the spare time, I should make use of it." Guillaume put down the papers in his hand, then sat down at his desk and opened up his private laptop.

"Guillaume," Amedeo said before he could switch it on. "Don't. I'm serious."

"I'll just check my e-mail." But he didn't press the power button just yet.

"And be done with it next week?" Amedeo pushed away from the door frame and crossed the room to come and stand by his side. "Leave it, love," he said, resting his hand on Guillaume's shoulder. "You know they're keeping an eye on it at the Palace offices, if there's anything urgent you'll hear about it."

"Nobody's been checking over the bank holidays," Guillaume said, and did boot up the laptop before Amedeo could reply. "If something's come up, they won't know until Monday."

Amedeo frowned down at him. "And what exactly do you think happened over Christmas? An offer for trade talks from Père Noël?"

Guillaume's shoulder rose and fell under his hand as his lover shrugged, and he felt absurdly irritated that his bait for a spot of bantering hadn't been picked up. "Maybe that's the case, but I won't know for sure until I check now, will I? If it bothers you so much, you don't have to stay here and watch. I'll be done in half an hour."

"Of course, half an hour, like always." Amedeo removed his hand and turned away. "Well, don't expect me to wait up."

He stalked out before Guillaume could say something. Or, even worse, say nothing.

They'd had this discussion before, with varying intensity, and Amedeo was beginning to be truly frustrated by Guillaume's insistence that his almost obsessive thoroughness where his work was concerned wasn't anything to be worried about. He simply didn't _see_ how hard he was pushing himself, and after years of doing so, he didn't think it odd that almost every waking hour was filled with something productive.

It wasn't that Amedeo couldn't comprehend the need for his lover to invest so much time and effort into his role as heir apparent. That was part of being a member of a ruling family, a simple fact of life, and nobody who did this expected a regular nine-to-five job. But most others managed to keep some balance in their lives and didn't check their to-do list even before getting out of bed in the morning.

Amedeo had always felt more than a little guilty about adding the stress of regular intercontinental travel to Guillaume's busy schedule while they'd still kept their relationship private. But after a few weeks of living with his lover and actually seeing his everyday routines, he was coming to understand that those trips hadn't been added stress, they'd been enforced mini-vacations, free of work and obligations.

He waited for exactly thirty minutes. Then, when - predictably - there was no sight of Guillaume, he got ready for bed and settled in with a book. An hour later, he turned off the light.

It was almost two in the morning by the time the door soundlessly opened, a sliver of brightness falling in from the hallway for a moment before the light was turned off and Guillaume sneaked inside, his footsteps barely audible on the thick carpet. Carefully lifting the blanket, he slowly slipped into bed and lay down.

"Half an hour?" Amedeo asked into the darkness once he couldn't hear him move anymore. "At least I think that's what you said, what was it, three hours ago?"

He received a sigh in response. "Do we have to do this now?" Guillaume asked, his voice barely a whisper. "I'm really tired."

"Don't blame me for that," Amedeo returned, but softened his tone to make it plain that he wasn't looking for another argument right now, not when he was still feeling unsettled over all the other uncertainties dominating his life right now. Rolling onto his side, he reached out and slid an arm around Guillaume's waist, humming with encouragement as they settled together. "You push yourself too hard. I mean it, you need to ease up."

Guillaume tucked his head against the crook of Amedeo's neck, cool breath brushing lightly across his bare skin. "It's part of my duty, it's not like I can ignore it at will. If I don't do it... there simply isn't anyone else."

"There's duty, and there's your interpretation of it." Amedeo carefully combed his fingers through Guillaume's hair, a gesture which never failed to soothe his lover. He'd paid a lot of attention to any and all means by which to calm him over the past weeks, just in case. "You wouldn't let Marie work your hours."

"That's different. She's an employee, she doesn't have the same responsibilities." Guillaume turned his head into Amedeo's touch, nose lightly brushing against his palm. "Besides, she's got her family to take care of."

Amedeo briefly tugged at Guillaume's hair in silent reprimand, then eased up again. "Her youngest is almost out of his teens, that's no excuse. Besides, you've got family too." He bowed his head for a brief kiss. "Please tell me you won't need a baby in the house to make you slow down. I'm willing to do a lot for you, but that would utterly ruin my figure."

It got him the laugh he'd been aiming for. "I'll leave that to Félix and his future wife, if you don't mind," Guillaume said, bringing their mouths together with a little more intent behind the gesture.

For a minute Amedeo let him go ahead, then gently pulled back again. "How am I going to get it into your thick skull that the world isn't going to come to an end if you don't micro-manage it?" he asked quietly. "I know you don't like to hear it, but you're spreading yourself too thin."

"I can manage," Guillaume insisted, but not quite as firmly as he had before when they'd discussed this. Whether it was because he was tired or because they were finally making some headway in this debate, Amedeo couldn't tell.

"For now," he conceded with a sigh. "But you can't keep this up forever, love, not without hurting yourself, so don't expect me to stand by and watch."

He'd be able to help with the workload once he was officially part of the Luxembourgian Royal Family, but with their wedding still five months off, Amedeo didn't think this could wait. Not when it was going to be hard enough already to convince Guillaume to hand over some of his engagements to him and not immediately fill the gaps up with new projects.

Guillaume didn't say anything in response but initiated another kiss instead, and Amedeo wordlessly agreed to let the matter lie for now. He'd spoken his mind, now it was up to Guillaume to figure out that he'd meant every word of it. A real argument about this wasn't something he wanted, so he'd simply hope that his lover came to the right conclusions, for his own good.

They kissed for a while, the atmosphere between them quickly lightening before gradually filling with an altogether different sort of tension. Reconciliatory love-making certainly had its attractions, Amedeo decided as his lover's hands began to roam with unmistakable intent, especially when they could manage it without a full-blown fight beforehand.

"I thought you needed to rest?" he teased, tilting back his head in clear invitation when Guillaume slowly trailed licks and kisses down along his throat, finding larynx, pulse points and jugular and sending him into a shiver of anticipation.

He couldn't see the look in Guillaume's eyes in the darkness, but it wasn't hard to imagine the oh-so-familiar expression of exasperation mingled with arousal that was audible in his voice. "Do you want to sleep just yet? Or can I interest you in... other plans?"

"And have you fall asleep in the middle and leave me unsatisfied until morning?" Amedeo rose up and teasingly nipped the tip of his nose. "Didn't you say you are tired?"

"Not _that_ tired," Guillaume assured him, and proceeded to prove it.

***

William's royal heirs' assistance network came into play for the first time a week later.

It was three days into the new year, and Amedeo had reluctantly kissed Guillaume goodbye in the morning and watched him leave for the office, with the firm reminder to keep the working hours in the low double digits for the day. He'd have aimed for single digits if he'd thought it stood any chance of success, but he was regretfully realistic - and would have fretted about it if it hadn't been for a rather unexpected, but not unwelcome, phone call from Andrea.

For a while they chatted, idly exchanging news and gossip (apparently Pierre and Félix had run into each other and struck up a friendship which, they both agreed, might be an early portent of the impending Apocalypse) before Andrea came to the point.

"You've still got your apartment in New York, don't you?" he asked.

Amedeo frowned in puzzlement. "Technically, yes. Why?"

"Could I borrow it for the rest of the week?"

"Yes, sure, but... you realise I've moved out half the furniture already, right?" He was sitting on his old bed right now, his bookshelves had taken over one corner in the study he shared with Guillaume, and his work desk and some other pieces had gone to former colleagues. Amedeo was still trying to get rid of the rest, but he'd had too many other concerns on his mind for the past weeks to really make finalising the apartment sale a priority when he didn't have any need to rush about it. But now that he and Guillaume weren't planning on travelling there anytime soon, he hadn't cared too much about keeping it habitable. Apparently he should have.

"Is there still someplace to sleep?" Andrea wanted to know.

"The sofa converts," he said, his curiosity growing. "You are aware there are hotels in New York, aren't you? I promise they exist, I've seen them with my own eyes."

Andrea made a dismissive noise. "Hotels have noisy staff who tip off paparazzi," he said. "It would utterly ruin the plan."

"Which is?"

"Carl's been planning to arrange a few days out of Europe for him and Wills," Andrea explained. "He's gone about it in a really thorough fashion - the media are misdirected and think they'll be up somewhere in the Northern Swedish snow fields, he's got flights figured out in a way to keep them private... but Madeleine apparently didn't hear about his intentions to borrow her New York retreat in time, so she's using it herself. And that's where you come into play. Or your apartment, to be exact, we don't actually need you to do anything but send over the keys."

"Okay, I get the idea, but why are you talking to me about this, and not Carl?" Amedeo wondered.

He heard Andrea sigh theatrically. "Because Carl would never ask you for this because he wouldn't feel comfortable if he knew it was your place and that you had Guillaume stay over for years. But right now you are the only person I can think of who's got a place in New York that isn't inhabited, so... well, he doesn't have to know who it belongs to. Just tell me you never did it on the sofa."

"We never did it on the sofa," Amedeo repeated faithfully, smiling fondly at the memories that came up. He briefly wondered whether they'd remembered to dig out the bottle of lube that had disappeared into one of the upholstery cracks the last time they'd been in New York.

Andrea snorted. "I hope that wasn't your best effort at lying," he said. "So it's possible for Carl to borrow your place?"

Sitting up a little straighter, Amedeo shrugged. "Sure, why not, it's not as if I need it right now, and if it helps him out he's welcome to it. I'll just fed-ex the keys to Clarence House?"

Andrea grumbled with what sounded like thoughtful consideration. "Yes, though leave off your name if you can. And let me find the address addition first that'll make sure it goes through security. The staff there is a bit paranoid over odd items appearing in the mail."

Amedeo blinked. "And how do you know that?"

"Last time I sent them a little present, it was returned to sender because it triggered a security alert."

"A security... Do I want to know what you sent?"

"Well, it's not like I could have known that they run everything through a metal detector, or I wouldn't have sent brushed steel handcuffs. Anyway, Wills later gave me the code to make sure it goes through."

Amedeo wisely refrained from asking why Andrea was sending bondage gear to the heir to the throne of England and his husband. After seeing those three interact in Monaco, he figured he'd prefer to be comfortably drunk if he ever found out the answer to that.

He had the keys with a courier less than an hour later, and when he ran into a journalist on his way to the Grand Ducal Palace he casually mentioned how pleased he was to hear that William and Carl Philip had already arrived at their Swedish holiday destination, and how they'd mentioned a side trip across the border to Finland while they were at it. Judging by the gleam in the man's eyes, he reasoned the bait had been swallowed.

A week later, Guillaume dropped a little package on his desk together with the day's mail. "A late Christmas present from England?" he asked.

"Nothing I was expecting." Amedeo picked it up and unwrapped the protective paper. Out came a little box containing his keys, along with a note in scraggy handwriting.

'Thanks for the help,' it read, 'and don't tell Andrea I figured you two out, he's having too much fun with his little conspiracy to spoil it. CP'

***

In hindsight, Amedeo should have kept his mouth shut.

On the other hand, how could he have known that an innocent little comment could have such repercussions? He'd run into Guillaume's mother at breakfast and they'd chatted over coffee; she'd mentioned that she had an event with the Luxembourgian Red Cross that day, and Amedeo had innocently commented that his own mother had taken him along to a number of those while she'd been María Teresa's counterpart as the organisation's patron in Belgium.

Before he really knew what was happening, he'd been sent upstairs to change into what he was coming to think of as his uniform - tailored suit, dark grey today, starched dress shirt, tie, polished shoes - and within twenty minutes was in a car with María Teresa and on the way.

"It's a perfect opportunity, you have to admit," she'd said. "We can let the people see you, there'll be some positive press about the two of us getting along well, and the Red Cross will have more thorough coverage of their festival out of it than they would if I went by myself. So, off with you, make yourself presentable so we can show you off."

Who was he to argue with a reigning Grand Duchess and, even more, his future mother-in-law?

During the brief car ride - Luxembourg sometimes simply was too small - he did his best to quiz her about the festival as well as the most important facts about the local Red Cross, and was profoundly grateful that one of his last projects in his old job had been related to rescue organisations. Amedeo hated going into events blind, but here he had at least basic information to fall back to even if he hadn't had a chance to put in at least a few hours' worth of research like he usually did.

He'd best catch up with it later, though; there might be questions in the coming days, as well as future encounters with the people involved here. In a community as tightly knit as Luxembourg with its barely half a million inhabitants, you were bound to run into the same people over and over again. Amedeo was starting to recognise faces even after the mere handful of events he'd done here so far, so he'd better get to work, and fast. It wouldn't do to give anyone the impression that the consort-to-be of their Hereditary Grand Duke didn't take his job seriously. And even if he hadn't cared about the public's opinion of himself, Amedeo would have cared about how it reflected on his lover. He wasn't going to ruin even a bit of Guillaume's work by being sloppy or careless; it was too important not to do his best.

The festival turned out to be typical for a small town, something Amedeo was thoroughly familiar with after the past year. He faithfully followed María Teresa around, dug out his most charming manners for the elderly volunteers and a more businesslike and serious approach for the management staff, and generally did his best to show interest and attention.

"Oh, the new prince!" the tiny old lady in charge of the coffee machine exclaimed and refused to release his hand again when he'd politely greeted her. "It's so very good of you to come here so we can have a look at you. So tall and handsome! What a shame there won't be babies..."

By now he'd run into that particular sentiment often enough to know how to handle - or defuse, depending on the intensity - the situation. It _was_ going to dominate people's perception of him at least in the beginning, he knew, and he'd sat down with a former consulting colleague a while ago and worked out strategies to distract people from the fact that Guillaume wasn't going to get him pregnant, no matter how much fun they had trying.

"It's the perfect chance for the siblings of Guillaume and myself to have plenty of children," he pointed out cheerfully, "After all, they have the two of us as babysitters whenever they need us. We'll have plenty of nieces and nephews, my lady, don't worry about us."

And they would, at that. With a total of eight siblings between them, at least some of them were bound to produce kids eventually or, in the case of Louis, had already done so. Enough to satisfy any parenting needs they might have, with the added bonus that they could give the kids back when they turned cranky or wanted a fresh nappy.

Once his hand was released again, he slowly worked his way back to María Teresa and stayed there, partly to see her in action, partly for some protection from grandmothers with either kidnapping tendencies or the urge to make him eat cookies. They posed for pictures with the organisers, Guillaume's mother held a little speech (put together so well that Amedeo resolved to nick her notes if the opportunity presented itself), and the winner of the children's first aid competition got to demonstrate her skill on him. His arm still supported in a beautifully knotted sling and his wrist covered in a pressure bandage, Amedeo also ended up answering some press questions from the reporters who were covering the event and who hadn't counted on seeing him there. A bonus for them: he hadn't made a lot of appearances in Luxembourg so far, so there still was plenty of interest.

"That went well," María Teresa said when they were in the back of the car an hour later and being driven back to Colmar. He felt more than a little relieved at having passed her test; that it had been a test was beyond doubt.

"Not perfect, though," he said, still picking cookie crumbs off his coat.

María Teresa glanced at him, clicked her tongue, then reached over to briskly brush off his shoulder. "Well enough. If it weren't so tricky with protocol I'd have you share Guillaume's workload already, but we'd best wait for that until after your wedding."

"And until then, we try to convince him not to work himself into the ground?"

María Teresa simply shook her head at the suggestion. "Don't bother trying to convince that boy of something," she said. "Don't ask, simply sneak it past him and present him with a fait accompli."

By the time he was back at his desk in Berg (and finally got started on the preparation work he'd intended to get done that morning before he'd been press-ganged), he had a message from Guillaume on his voicemail about the conference running late, the weather turning bad, and an unforeseen overnight stay. Amedeo unsuccessfully attempted to call him back, left a quick message in turn and proceeded to focus on his work for the rest of the day.

He missed another call from Guillaume while he was on the phone with Philippe to arrange schedules for the upcoming weeks. Again his return call went unanswered; his lover probably was trying to reach him during conference breaks, Amedeo figured. He sent a text instead, then another just before he went to bed.

It felt like the middle of the night when his phone jolted him awake. Amedeo blindly reached for it, banged his hand against the edge of the nightstand, then managed to grab the blasted little nuisance.

"Yes?" he asked, his sleep-befuddled mind scrambling to wake up.

"Are you all right?" Guillaume asked urgently, in lieu of a greeting. "I just saw the pictures. Why didn't you say you were hurt?"

"Ouch," he muttered, cradling his hand to his chest. "What?"

"Amedeo, are you all right?" Guillaume repeated, emphasis on every word.

He frowned in confusion. "Of course I'm all right," he said, reaching out to turn on the reading light on the night stand to have a look at his watch. "Not that I don't like to hear your voice, but... why are you calling me at this time?"

"I only just now got your text, I thought you'd still be awake or I wouldn't have," Guillaume told him. "I'm sorry I woke you up, but... just what happened to you? Those pictures looked serious."

Realisation was beginning to dawn on Amedeo by then. "I let a ten-year-old demonstrate first aid on me, that's what happened. They used those photos?"

"Of course they used those photos." The relief in Guillaume's voice was audible. "You're fine?"

"Aside from a slightly embarrassing half hour in the car with your mother, yes," Amedeo assured him. "Don't worry, Guillaume. Nothing happened."

He heard a rushed exhale on the other end of the line. "I really am sorry that I woke you up over nothing."

"Never mind, with the weather it's not really surprising if there's been a transmission delay." Amedeo turned off the light again, then snuggled more comfortably into the cushions. "Besides, it's always good to hear your voice when you can't be here. Are you still stuck, or are you coming home tomorrow?"

"I've got meetings in the city tomorrow for most of the morning and early afternoon, I can't afford to be stuck and miss them."

Amedeo hummed in thoughtful agreement. "That's perfect, actually," he said innocently. "I'll be back from Arles a little after six, you can pick me up at the station and we can come back up to Berg together. There's no way I'm driving by myself when it's snowing."

He could practically hear the wheels turn in Guillaume's mind as his lover tried to decide between leaving early - by his standards - and being impolite and unkind and forcing Amedeo to make his own way home. Amedeo wondered whether he'd have to point out the freezing temperatures, the snow, the wind and the fact that he _hated_ being cold.

"I'll be there," Guillaume promised after a moment. "Call me once you are on the train so I know when to come and collect you."

A triumphant smile on his lips at the success, Amedeo drew up the blankets. "Will do. Miss you, love, and not just because you make such a nice bed warmer."

Guillaume laughed. "As if I didn't know you've got ulterior motives," he returned. "I love you. Sleep well."

***

A few days later Amedeo was once more jolted awake by a phone call in the middle of the night. This time, however, with consequences more serious than briefly interrupted sleep.

When he turned up on his uncle's doorstep at the end of the day, still shaken from an argument that had come out of nowhere, Philippe took one look at him, then crossed his arms. "What's the little Luxembourgian brat done?"

Amedeo glanced at him tiredly, then shook his head. "It doesn't matter," he said quietly as he carried his briefcase and bag inside. How did you explain that your fiancé was questioning your faithfulness over something as absurd as a mere phone call from a former girlfriend, with no intentions whatsoever behind it once she'd heard of Amedeo's relationship?

"Of course it matters." Philippe followed him, visibly bristling. "How serious is this?"

He waited until they were up on the second floor of the private wing, away from any potential listeners, before he turned around. Meeting his uncle's eyes took effort, but Amedeo managed. "I don't know yet," he admitted as he stepped into the guest room that had become his Brussels refuge over the past weeks. "Philippe... tomorrow. Please."

"All right, I'm going to pretend that you're sleeping here because it's more convenient for your appointments tomorrow. But I want you to know that I don't believe a word of it." His uncle paused as if to say something else, then threw up his arms in frustrated despair and closed the door behind him, muttering something about love and idiots.

If Guillaume had slapped him in the face it couldn't have come as a greater surprise than having him suddenly demand to know whether Amedeo had any intentions to tumble into bed with another person. His ex-girlfriend no less. What did Guillaume think, that he'd spent the past six years pining after Keyla? That he'd jump at the opportunity and abandon all the choices he'd made, _they_ had made together, everything they'd gone through, for a one-night stand?

It wasn't that Guillaume didn't have the right to ask - Amedeo would never deny him that in any matter - but that he should know better than to feel any _need_ to do so. Amedeo hadn't even looked at anyone else ever since they had started their relationship, not even in the very early days when they'd still worked out if this was something they wanted and if they could make it work at all. And Guillaume bloody well had to know that.

Amedeo stood still for a moment, then took a deep breath and fought against the anger that was once again rising. He'd already spent most of the day silently fuming over Guillaume, and he was getting fed up with being furious.

Preparing for tomorrow's events helped to distract him, even if it meant that he was absolutely over-planning a minor charity preparation meeting and plotting the inauguration of a newly renovated guildhall with what was approaching military precision. But the alternative was to once more recap what had led him to walk out on Guillaume at four this morning, and every time he cycled through that, he just found it harder and harder to figure out what on Earth Guillaume had been thinking. On the whole, it was better that he practised his speech even though he knew the segments by heart by now.

When his phone rang he warily glanced at the display, then picked it up when the number wasn't that of Guillaume. Right now he really wasn't up to talking to him.

"Hey," Andrea greeted him cheerfully. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything, I just wanted to let you know that Carl seems to suspect something."

It was such a different thought at a sudden that Amedeo needed a few seconds to figure out what sort of response he was supposed to give. "So what?"

"So we'll just be quiet unless he asks directly? I'd rather not lie to him over something like that, it's simply not worth it."

Andrea happily chatted on for a while, sharing news about their mutual acquaintances and the holiday of William and Carl Philip, and how that had worked out just according to plan. He was thinking about another get-together for their little circle as well, and Amedeo at least tried to muster some enthusiasm at the idea.

"All right," Andrea eventually said, "what's going on? Because you don't sound like you're bored by what I'm talking about, that would be absolutely fine, but as if you're miles away."

"I am miles away," Amedeo pointed out. "Around seven hundred of them, if I'm not mistaken."

Andrea snorted with amusement. "Admittedly I never worked out how far it is between Luxembourg and Monaco."

"I'm in Brussels right now, actually."

There was a brief pause, then, "I thought you've been staying with Guillaume ever since you two went official?"

Running his hand across his face, Amedeo sighed. "I might have fled the country this morning," he admitted before he could think better of it.

"Fled the... Mate, what's going on?" Serious now, and sounding completely unlike Andrea without the omnipresent hint of amusement.

Amedeo wavered for a minute. This really wasn't something that concerned anyone but Guillaume and him, and he shouldn't drag anyone else into this whole mess. It was an issue between them, even if Amedeo right now had no idea how to sort it all out (and whether he even was the one who should be worrying about that). But at the same time, he was simply at his wits' end and, even more, he still hurt over the suspicions Guillaume had thrown at him.

"Guillaume picked the perfect moment to be an idiot," he said.

Andrea sighed audibly. "Sorry to hear that. Not too bad, I hope?"

He hesitated, then decided to go ahead and trust Andrea with this. "I walked out on him at four this morning after he demanded to know whether I'd cheat on him if the opportunity presented itself."

"That's..." Andrea seemed lost for words, something that would have amused Amedeo greatly under different circumstances. "That's big, even for Guillaume. I mean, I know he isn't exactly the most subtle person most of the time, but that..."

"I simply can't believe he asked me that. There's _never_ been even the slightest reason for him to think I'd ever be enough of a bastard to do that to him, and then he turns around and hits me with something like this. So what if my ex called? I'm sure Guillaume would prefer it if she and I weren't on speaking terms, but for God's sake it's been six years since I even heard of her!"

"Surely he isn't still confused over the fact you had a girlfriend?" Andrea asked. "I remember it startled him when you were visiting back in December."

An odd moment, that; Amedeo had been convinced Guillaume had long been aware that he'd done his share of experimenting with both genders, but that had turned out to be a misconception. Just like this problem right now, and they damned well needed to talk more about these things.

"He claims he isn't, but... I don't know, and it shouldn't matter. I'm with him now, I've been with him for four years, and only with him. If I were that desperate to top for once, I'd simply tell him that and not go out and chat up a woman to fall into bed with. Or worse, go back to Keyla - there's a reason she's my ex!"

Andrea chuckled on the other end of the line. "A bit too much information, honestly."

"Sorry." Amedeo got up and paced along the length of the room, unable to sit still any longer.

"Never mind," Andrea assured him. "Doesn't he realise he's got no reason to worry? Because really, one look at you two... you're worse than Wills and Carl were before they were married."

"Tell that to him," Amedeo muttered, pausing briefly at the window to glance outside before turning around again. "I'm still trying to figure out why he even asked. And then he had the gall to wonder why I wasn't staying around to listen to him accuse me of cheating on him! I don't even know what that says about his trust in me. What does he think, that I'm masochistic enough to put myself through months of difficulties with my family just to turn around at the first opportunity and throw it all away for an affair behind his back? Bloody hell, my mother practically kicked me out to the curb when I told her about us, if I'd ever intended to leave him that would have been the moment to do it! And not now when we're finally putting it all together and _getting_ somewhere. Four years, and he thinks I'd... doesn't he know me better than that by now?"

Andrea grumbled wordlessly in agreement. "So what are you going to do now?" he asked.

"If I knew that... Philippe's putting me up for now, but I don't know where this is going." Amedeo sat down on the wooden chair by the little writing desk in the corner and drew a deep breath. "It's going to depend on Guillaume, I'm not patching this up when I haven't done anything to cause this whole mess in the first place. If he doesn't understand what this is about..."

Then what, though? What alternative was there? A break from each other so they could figure it out? That was the last thing Amedeo wanted, not when they'd had four years of constantly interrupted time. This was their chance at finally sharing their lives, it couldn't go wrong after just a few weeks.

"If you want to get away for a couple of days, you're always welcome here," Andrea told him. "Or London, for that matter, if you think Carl and Wills would be more helpful, they won't have any problem with it either."

Amedeo pinched the bridge of his nose, then ran his hand through his hair. "Thanks," he said. "But... I can't do that. That would be running away."

"You did cross the border. Which isn't hard to do with Luxembourg, I know."

"I went to Belgium, that's different, I can be here legitimately." And even more importantly, it was within reach and with no added complications that would make Guillaume be even more stupid out of some misguided idea of either being polite or maintaining his own boundaries. Even furious with him as he was, Amedeo was willing to extend that much goodwill, at least for the first few days. After that, he might just let Guillaume see what he thought of Amedeo making off to Monaco, along with all those irrational ideas he still had about Andrea.

Andrea grumbled again. "If you say so. The offer stands, though, if he goes on being a fool. Is there anything else we can do to help?"

"Aside from beating some sense into Guillaume?" Amedeo muttered. "Right now he's probably completely clueless as to what happened."

"He can't be that stupid, surely," Andrea said.

Amedeo grimaced. "You've met him."

"He's baffled by people being friendly, I know, but even he can't be that obtuse. It's got to tell him something that you walked away from that whole situation. He’s not an idiot, he's got to be able to figure out what he's done."

"I just hope you're right. He really picked the perfect time for it. Four in the morning, when neither of us had anywhere near enough sleep for the entire week. The ideal moment to start questioning a relationship."

There was a brief pause before Andrea said, "Surely he's not going that far?"

Amedeo closed his eyes, the day's exhaustion beginning to catch up with him. "I don't know. I don't think so, but... I don't know. If he trusts me so little that in his eyes it's possible I'd cheat on him, then what does that say about us?"

"That you two have no idea how to handle a fight," Andrea said bluntly. "Want some advice?"

Amedeo raised an eyebrow at that. "Sure."

"Give him a day or two to work it out for himself, and let him realise just how badly he's cocked this all up. If he's got a shred of sense left, he'll come crawling. And when he does, don't make it impossible for him, but let him work for it. He's got to understand just what he did wrong."

"Do I want to know where you get that bit of wisdom from?"

Andrea laughed quietly. "Guillaume isn't the only one who's an idiot occasionally," he said. "Though I've never gotten up to anything nearly as bad as that. I can put you on with Tatiana if you want to know more, she's impressively scary when she's angry with me."

"I'll take your word for it," Amedeo assured him, then paused. "Andrea?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you for letting me rant at you."

"Don't worry about it, you just needed to let off some steam. Better now?"

Amedeo nodded, then remembered that this wasn't a video conference. "Yes."

"Great, then let's figure out how we can throw Carl off our track about the whole New York thing."

Amedeo went along with the change of topic, relieved to be able to think of something else, at least for a little while. They plotted together, their ideas on how to distract Carl Philip growing more and more outrageous, and by the time they finished their call - with the resolve to claim that the apartment was a secret hide-out and that Amedeo's downstairs neighbour was a high-level secret service agent - Amedeo was genuinely laughing for the first time that day.

The mood didn't last, of course, and he only slept that night because he'd still not caught up on all the sleep he'd lacked over the past week. It was almost frightening how quickly he'd become used to having Guillaume next to him in bed, and the sudden change was unexpectedly difficult to handle. For years he hadn't had any trouble to sleep alone; quite the opposite, even, he'd never slept as deeply when Guillaume was there, though perhaps for fear of missing something. But now, after a mere three months, he found himself subconsciously reaching for him in the dark and finding only cool sheets where he was supposed to be, and kept waking at the slightest noise.

The following day brought breakfast with Philippe, Mathilde and - mercifully, since it kept his uncle from beginning an interrogation - the whole quartet of little cousins, still on winter holiday. Amedeo let himself be drawn into their chatter, solemnly agreed that yes, their snow castle was the finest he'd ever seen and promised to inspect it properly once the sun was up. At the same time his goddaughter was absolutely thrilled to have him around for proper grown-up talk now that she'd turned all mature at thirteen and really couldn't be expected to play with her younger siblings anymore.

The day also brought another phone call from Andrea a little later in the morning, ostensibly to get Amedeo's opinion on a consulting report prepared for one of Andrea's charities.

It took all of five minutes for Amedeo to convince Andrea to e-mail him the report so he could have a look at it instead of discussing it on the phone. After that, and inevitably despite Amedeo's increasing irritation with the whole situation, their talk returned to yesterday's topic.

"Has he turned up yet?" Andrea asked.

"Not so far, no." And Amedeo wasn't entirely certain he would; he knew Guillaume had a packed schedule for the day, and he had long accepted where he stood in relation to official duties. A phone call might be a lot more likely than a meeting in person, at least for today.

Andrea snorted. "If he doesn't figure out what he's supposed to do, you can always go and ask Madeleine for assistance."

The mere idea was enough to make Amedeo smile despite his dark mood. "I'm not sure I'm _that_ angry with him," he said, slowly circling the room as they talked.

"Who knows, it might do him some good. It would certainly make him think twice about being so self-righteous."

"He's not that bad," Amedeo protested, watching Philippe get up from his desk in the adjoining room and head for the front door, probably to call the children inside again. "He's just really not good at switching from official to private mode."

"Still defending him, are you? Ah, mate... we should find you a nice prince somewhere else, he doesn't deserve you." Andrea sounded teasing, but there was a hint of something else in his voice as well that Amedeo couldn't quite decipher.

"I don't want another prince. I'd prefer it if the prince I already have could just be more sensible at times." Amedeo completed another round of the room, then paused briefly by one of the oil paintings on the wall. Turner, he thought before he resumed his pacing, always with those foggy seascapes. "Besides, talk to Theodora one of these days, she's starting to be more than a little distressed about the lack of eligible bachelor princes. Asking for a gay one on top of it might be a bit too much, especially when I'd need a Catholic one from a ruling house to satisfy the dynastic requirements."

There was a contemplative hum from the other end of the line. "You may have a point there," Andrea conceded. "Perhaps you should hang on to Guillaume after all. As long as you can teach him some manners."

Amedeo opened his mouth to answer, then looked up sharply when he heard Guillaume's voice from the doorway. A few seconds later, his fiancé came into view, in summer dress shoes and a far too light coat for this weather, and Amedeo barely managed to keep from rolling his eyes at such carelessness.

"Yeah. He's here now."

"Is he?" Andrea was clearly impressed. "Faster than I thought. Amedeo, take care of yourself, all right? Remember, he's the one who behaved like an absolute bastard, not you."

Amedeo nodded, his eyes still on Guillaume. "Yes, Andrea, you take care too. Bye." He terminated the call, took a deep breath and tried to stay calm.

Fighting with Guillaume was a frustrating experience, but listening to him attempt to apologise and explain himself easily topped it. Amedeo wasn't blind to the effort it cost him to put his thoughts into words, but he'd be damned before he made this any easier for him.

Trust was what it all came down to, and at least Guillaume seemed to have figured out that much. Trust, and how that was supposedly understood between them, without a need to actually explain that they both were faithful to each other, body and soul. Amedeo hadn't ever had any reason to entertain even the theoretical possibility of Guillaume cheating on him, not even during their long-distance days, and not just because he knew that every waking minute not spent with him would be spent on work. Guillaume simply had no time for an affair without scheduling it months in advance, and even if that had been different, Amedeo knew him too well to ever feel a need for suspicions about his fidelity. He'd believed Guillaume had long come to the same conclusion, but it seemed as if this was the first time he actually thought it all through.

It took a lot of effort to maintain his cool demeanour throughout their talk, but he drew resolve from the knowledge that if he didn't do this now, if he didn't make Guillaume _think_ about it, they'd end up going through this again, when once was quite enough. So he sat still and listened and waited and prompted, and did his best not to lose his patience or his temper while Guillaume struggled with words and with his own hang-ups.

When Guillaume made the first move and was the one to reach out, though, it was worth the restraint. For a little while Amedeo indulged himself and simply held on, his face buried against Guillaume's shoulder, inhaling his lover's familiar scent as he felt the rise and fall of breaths under his cheek, their unsteady rhythm betraying Guillaume's state of mind.

He hated this; their fight, the uncertainty, the tension, the whole situation. Over something so stupid and unnecessary, just because they'd never taken the time - never _had_ the time, even - to deal with such an idiotic matter of the past before it could blindside them like this. Before, it had always been sheer lack of opportunity that had kept them from discussing these things as much as they should have, and with their life-long familiarity with each other, it had never felt so urgent anyway. But now that they were sharing their everyday lives, there were more opportunities for those issues to crop up, and yet they still hadn't made time to sit down together and handle them.

It was something they needed to do soon, and it was with that resolve in mind that Amedeo agreed to come back home tonight. Luxembourg-home, quickly becoming the new centre of his life, just like New York had been before.

That afternoon he did his duties with a much lighter heart than the day before, and by the time he arrived in Colmar that evening - after assuring Andrea that everything had gone well, and wondering whether this friendly concern also was part of William's network - he was looking forward to some quiet hours with Guillaume.

His plans once again got spoiled by the fact that his lover was being devoured by his paperwork and, according to Marie when Amedeo gave her a call, hadn't made it out of his office yet. Amedeo could only shake his head in exasperation and remind himself that he'd known about Guillaume's obsessive dedication to duty even before they'd gotten together, and that it was too late by now to let himself become irritated by it.

At least he wasn't the only one who'd expected Guillaume back earlier this evening; a reassuring discovery, in a way, since it meant his mistaken assumption wasn't because he still had to learn about his lover's habits.

"He's still in the city?" María Teresa asked when she came up to their rooms later that evening.

Amedeo gave an elaborate shrug. "Apparently," he said, stepping aside to invite her in while sparing a grateful thought to having had the foresight of dressing again in more than shorts after his shower. "I didn't ask him this morning when he'd be home, but it seems I should have."

The comment earned him a searching look, then Guillaume's mother shook her head. "He'd just have told you he'd be back in time for dinner, and then felt bad over postponing it all," she said. "It's always been like that with him."

He didn't know quite how it happened, but ten minutes later he was seated on the sofa, María Teresa in the armchair opposite from him, and he was already halfway through the first glass of Auxerrois (wishing that Luxembourg had some decent red wines too and not just the whites that had never really grown on him).

"Did you have a good time in Brussels?" María Teresa asked him.

Amedeo glanced at her in an attempt to judge whether to take that question at face value or suspect ulterior meanings. "It's been a fairly busy day," he answered cautiously.

"Which hasn't stopped you from coming back here in the evening before," she pointed out, then mercifully added, "But it's just sensible that you spared yourself the drive. I wish Guillaume would see reason about that sometimes."

Amedeo swallowed a mouthful of wine. "I'm trying to get him to slow down a little, but it's a full-time job."

"One of the reasons why Henri and I are happy he’s got you now," María Teresa told him, her eyes warm, and he felt a pang of relief once more at hearing the confirmation. He hadn't had any reason to doubt that he was welcome here ever since they'd confessed to their relationship, but it was reassuring nonetheless to know that at least one set of parents could be reasonable about it all. "You are the only one who has ever managed to make Guillaume take a holiday since he started with his duties as Henri's heir. And regularly, at that! We thought it almost a miracle at the time."

Looking back, Amedeo had to agree with that assessment. Now that Guillaume no longer had to regularly fly to New York so they could see each other, he wasn't taking those little mini-vacations anymore. And vacations they had been, in three-day increments, especially once Amedeo had held Guillaume's project files out by the window and threatened to drop them fourteen floors to the street if his lover even thought of 'doing some reading' when he was supposed to rest and relax.

"It's harder to convince him now," he said, toying with the stem of his glass. "I wouldn't want go back to our long-distance days under any circumstances, but it did help to get him away from his duties."

"But you two could use some time to breathe, I am sure." María Teresa was watching him again with that unnerving look. "Now that everything is moving forward, we don't want you to feel nervous or overwhelmed because it goes too quickly. I understand if you need a break at times, but... wouldn't it be better if you could take that together?"

Was that the reason she'd chosen as to why he hadn't slept here last night? Amedeo had no illusions that she'd failed to notice his unexplained absence - very little escaped her that regarded her family - and he didn't think he would have lied if she'd asked him directly. But if they didn't have to talk about it... that was preferable by far.

"I've been thinking about it," he said. "I can't talk him into a real vacation, at least not so quickly, but we had an extra day when we went to Monaco last month. I know we aren't supposed to make a lot of public appearances together just yet, but if we could work out the occasional duty-related trip and add a day off here and there, it should be easier." He tried for a smirk and managed, if somewhat shakily. "If only because I can hide his passport and the tickets for the return flight."

María Teresa laughed at that. "I should have thought of that with Henri at times," she said. "If you find a suitable event somewhere, take it up and we'll find a way to explain that you are going on trips together. With you two, nobody needs to be worried that there'll be a pregnancy before the wedding, at least. Though I'm sure Guillaume knows to be careful, we've been very thorough about that after the situation with Louis." She took a delicate sip of wine. "And surely you two have been taking all necessary precautions."

Discussing safe sex with his future mother-in-law. Amedeo wished Guillaume and Félix hadn't polished off the vodka.

"We've been careful," he murmured into his glass.

She gave him a pleased nod at that. "Excellent," she said, then Amedeo's desperate prayers were answered when the door opened and her husband peered inside before she could interrogate him on the details.

"There you are." Henri looked around, closing the door behind himself. "Guillaume isn't home yet?"

"He's your son, my love, he suffers from your afflictions where the concept of working overtime is concerned." María Teresa picked up the wine bottle from the low table in front of her, and Amedeo quickly went to fetch a third glass from the kitchen.

"As long as you don't teach Amedeo your methods of countering it," Henri said, looking amused at the mere thought as he accepted his wine.

"He's a smart boy, he will figure it out by himself." She winked at Amedeo. "Remember, he managed to make Guillaume take vacations."

"Proof that he's stubborn enough for the task ahead," Henri agreed dryly. "Still, well done, Amedeo. He does need to figure out the right balance."

María Teresa looked at her husband, eyebrows raised. "Do listen to your own advice sometimes," she said tartly. "That would make your life much easier."

The talk shifted to lighter and less conspicuous topics then, wandering from their trip to Monaco to the Casiraghis and to Félix, and from there it meandered along for a pleasant hour. By the third glass of wine, Amedeo succeeded in settling firmly into the mindset of chatter with Aunt María Teresa and Uncle Henri and not his future parents-in-law, a bit of mental adjustment he hadn't entirely managed yet, and was genuinely enjoying himself without the constant nagging reminder in the back of his mind that he should be making a good impression. Which was pointless, really, given that at age four he'd painted on María Teresa's gown trail with permanent marker (the artwork had drawn a lot of stares during the celebrations of the tenth jubilee of Queen Beatrix, and the story still got dragged up at family get-togethers). Henri, on the other hand, had learned not to leave his Order of the Gold Lion of Nassau unattended because the shiny badge with the lion proved an irresistible attraction to little Princes of Belgium. Amedeo still had two of the badges stowed away in a drawer and had yet to figure out how to give them back without it becoming too embarrassing.

Guillaume's parents left eventually and he settled into bed with a book after they were gone, determined to wait up until his lover came home. He rarely went to sleep before Guillaume returned, and tonight, of all times, it truly mattered to him that they had some time together when their talk in the morning had been rushed out of simple necessity. By now Amedeo felt a lot less unsettled than he had yesterday, but not entirely balanced yet after their fight. The first, most important step had been made, but he needed to see that they'd truly come out of this mess without more than a few scrapes and bruises.

Once again it was close to midnight before Amedeo heard the door to their apartment open and shut again, followed by the muted thud of a briefcase being set down and the quiet clacking of a coat hanger. A few seconds of silence, followed by the sound of drawers and the clatter of plates from the kitchen. Another missed dinner, he thought with an inward sigh, and decided to let Guillaume have a bite to eat in peace rather than go and seek him out. Instead he picked up his book again and read on while he waited.

Guillaume looked practically somnambulant by the time he came into the bedroom, his hair on end, his face pale. But when Amedeo's eyes met his, he seemed to regain some energy; enough for a bit of banter, and more than enough to be a tease and talk Amedeo into a bout of shower sex in spite of their last failed experiment in that regard.

It was still a relief - and a vast improvement in terms of pleasurable activities - when they relocated to bed soon after. There was something to be said for the combination of hot water and all that naked skin, wet and gleaming and so enticing, but on the whole Amedeo preferred to be a little more conservative about his choice of locations, if only because post-coital basking was so much more pleasant in bed, with soft pillows and smooth sheets rather than leaning against cold, hard tiles while hunting for towels.

"Do you have anything scheduled tomorrow morning?" Amedeo asked quietly some time later, slowly carding his hand through Guillaume's still damp hair.

His lover raised his head a little from where it rested on Amedeo's shoulder. "Nothing until after lunch," he murmured, snuggling down again.

Amedeo dropped a kiss on the crown of his head, then carefully disentangled himself to reach for the alarm clock on the night stand and turn it off. Mission accomplished, he curled against Guillaume again and got them both comfortable underneath the sheets.

"We're really going to see about you getting some more rest," he said quietly, kissing Guillaume's forehead before resuming his petting. The grumble he received in reply drew a smile from him and he followed it up with another kiss, to Guillaume's temple this time.

"It's been such an effort to get us both to this spot," he continued, his voice pitched low, "and I'd really like to keep you. Preferably not constantly on the brink of exhaustion."

More wordless grumbling, and he felt Guillaume's muscles slowly lose their tension as he began to drift off. He brushed his lips over his lover's face, starting at his temple, then eyelids, nose, the corner of his mouth before trailing upwards again and finishing at his hairline and the barely visible scar from a playground accident twenty-five years ago that had scared Amedeo out of his wits at the time.

"The world isn't going to end if you don't work yourself into the ground, you know, love?" he whispered into Guillaume's soft hair. "You don't have to spend every waking hour on duty. If that was your plan, then you're going to have to re-think it, and I'd prefer it if you didn't bother." A quiet little snuffle was the only response he received. "I'll take that as agreement," he continued, smiling as he re-arranged his limbs into a more comfortable position. "Like I told you, I'm not letting you go, and I'm not letting you work yourself to death. You are too important to me to let you do that."

Guillaume shifted against him, his arm slowly sliding around Amedeo's waist in a loose embrace that tightened momentarily before he drew a deep breath and seemed to slip into unconsciousness for good.

"I love you," Amedeo murmured, his voice a barely audible whisper, and carefully snuggled close. "So you'd better let me take care of you."


	2. Chapter 2

Convincing Guillaume of something was, more than anything, a matter of finding the right moment to present a convincing argument. Four years into their relationship, Amedeo had plenty of practise when it came to getting his way (and, even more importantly, knew how much he'd get away with).

"You know," he drawled, slowly kissing and licking his way up along Guillaume's inner thigh, "I've been thinking."

"Now?" The growl from Guillaume was one of pure frustration. "Can't you think later?"

Amedeo looked up, took in the half exasperated, half pleasure-lost expression in Guillaume's eyes, the way his hands were clenching the sheet, the sound of his ragged breathing, and flashed him an impish smile. "No, now is the perfect moment for it," he stated with mock seriousness, then dipped his head for a teasing flicker of his tongue that provoked a satisfying groan. "I've got your complete attention, don't I?"

"Amedeo..." Whatever else Guillaume intended to say trailed off into a sharply drawn breath as Amedeo nipped the tender skin where thigh met hip, followed by the soothing brush of a kiss, his hands tightening their hold on his lover's hips to keep him still.

"We'll take up William's invitation for the charity polo match, won't we?" he said, a well-timed lick to his lover's cock silencing all potential protests. "So we could just arrive a day early, stay a little longer..."

He glanced up at Guillaume, grinning at the slightly dazed expression when their eyes met. Guillaume blinked a few times, visibly struggling to focus enough for a reply.

"Just say yes," he suggested, and followed up his words with some more non-verbal persuasion. "Do you want to?"

Guillaume's hips bucked despite his obvious effort to hold still; Amedeo could feel the slight trembling of the muscles under his hands and gave a slow, soothing caress before setting a sharp counterpoint with his mouth. "You have to _ask_?"

Amedeo drew back, ignoring the moan of protest. "Perfect," he murmured and began to slowly work his way up along Guillaume's body, paying plenty of attention to all his favourite spots, his lover's scent around him, tantalising and familiar. He got as far as Guillaume's navel before urgent hands seized his arms and drew him upwards and his mouth was caught in a fierce, insistent kiss that left him gasping for breath.

Before he could regain his wits he found himself on his back with Guillaume looking down at him, brown eyes dark with arousal. "Got you," he growled, his grip on Amedeo's shoulders nonetheless carefully measured as he pinned him down.

"You've got me," he agreed after a half-hearted attempt to get away, relaxing into the tangled sheets. "So what are you going to do to me now? I await your... pleasure, Your Royal Highness," he added, briefly distracted by the sensation of Guillaume's mouth hot on his jugular that made him arch up to bare his throat for more.

"Taking protocol a bit far, aren't you?" Guillaume grumbled before latching onto the juncture of jaw and neck and raising a bright spot of heat there.

Amedeo smiled up at him, the decorous look he'd been aiming for slightly spoiled when Guillaume's hand gradually slid down his side and made him squirm in an attempt to increase the touch. "I'm your official consort, I'm supposed to... mhm, yes, do that again... supposed to keep you satisfied."

"More like making me struggle to keep up with you," Guillaume quipped, then distracted him with another of those deep, dedicated kisses he did so well. The advantage of having a lover who was always determined to give his best; in bed, Amedeo heartily approved of the approach even when he could wish for Guillaume to ration his energy a little in other matters.

"As if you don't enjoy the challenge," he shot back, an appreciative moan escaping him as Guillaume found more interesting areas to explore; it was easy to let himself get lost in their kisses and the shift and slide of their bodies against each other, until the familiar little noise of a tube being uncapped made him focus in anticipation.

Even after all their time as a couple it was still a rush to feel Guillaume inside him, to _know_ that they fit together, body and soul, and for a little while, his full attention on his lover, Amedeo didn't care about anything else in the world.

"What exactly did I agree to earlier, by the way?" Guillaume asked as they lay together afterwards, freshly showered and warm beneath the sheets, exchanging lazy kisses.

"Oh... nothing important," Amedeo told him innocently and had to duck his head with a laugh when Guillaume lightly cuffed him around the ear. "An additional day or two in England, if you must know."

His lover heaved a sigh at that. "And I really said yes?"

"You did," Amedeo told him, then magnanimously added, "Though you may have been somewhat distracted at the time."

Guillaume gave him a flat look. "Which was absolute coincidence."

"Of course." Amedeo dipped his head to brush his lips against Guillaume's, gradually deepening the kiss until he could tease his tongue into playing. A soft sigh, then Guillaume went along with it for a minute before drawing back again.

"You're proving my point," he said.

Amedeo nipped the tip of his nose in reply, then settled down again. "I think it would be good," he said, turning more serious. "For several reasons."

Guillaume raised his eyebrows. "Which would be?"

"Félix, for one thing. He's already accepted, but you know he's not that comfortable yet when it comes to public appearances." Something Amedeo could easily sympathise with; he was reasonably accustomed to the peculiarities of life as a working royal by now, but his own learning phase was still fresh in his mind. Just like himself, Félix had never expected to have to make more than the occasional token appearance with the whole family but now, with the circumstances being as they were, he was about to get dragged into the spotlight.

"It's just the British princes he'll be dealing with, though," Guillaume countered. "They should be easy."

Amedeo shot him an amused glance. "And that coming from you," he said. "Remember, he's not met them before, and it's going to be a whole gaggle of new royals for him and the British press on top of it. But I'm not saying we should extend our stay just to baby-sit your little brother."

"Which would be a little odd anyway, given that he's older than you." Guillaume reached for his hand. "So why else?"

He shrugged. "Because it would be good to spend some time with Carl and Wills? Don't look like that," he admonished when he saw Guillaume's eyes narrow at the idea. "I'm not saying we've got to spend the entire time with them. But Wills and Harry have a good project going there, we might as well give them a hand. And while we're in London, it would be a shame not to spend an extra day or two there."

"Amedeo..."

"I already asked Marie whether your appointments on those days can be moved. And then I asked your mother whether she or your father can do the two that can't be rescheduled. They'll handle them, and I'll help you catch up with the rest so there won't be a backlog." He met Guillaume's gaze. "You've managed to get away for two or three days once or twice a month over the past few years, so don't tell me it's impossible. And you... _we_ need this, Guillaume. When's the last time we had a day to ourselves? Or spent more than an hour or two in the evening together? It's only going to get worse until May, you know that. We've already ended up in one fight, I really don't want a repeat of that just because we're both too stressed out to talk. Or don't have the time for it, for that matter."

Guillaume looked at him for long moments, then shook his head. "I can't be out of reach, you know that."

Amedeo rolled his eyes at the predictable protest. "Out of reach? It's London. If you have to, you can be back within a few hours. Ask Carl if he'll drive you, that should cut another third off your travel time. And besides... why is that a problem now if it hasn't been one when you came to New York?" He pushed away and sat up, the sheet pooling in his lap. "You've got a mobile phone, you've got e-mail, and if it makes you feel any better I promise I'll let you check in every day without protest, as long as you keep it within reasonable limits. Guillaume, I'm not suggesting we go on a trip across Antarctica, I'm talking about a prolonged weekend in a European capital city less than six hours away under even the most complicated circumstances."

"I'm really not sure about this," Guillaume said, moving into an upright position as well. "We've just been in Monaco for almost a week. And there was the Christmas break as well."

Amedeo almost growled at him in irritation. "Monaco was over four months ago. And Christmas doesn't count, you only had nothing scheduled then because you couldn't find anyone else who'd voluntarily work on these days." He got up, not bothering with a robe as he began to pace to give his growing irritation an outlet. "What do I have to do to make you take a day off here and there?" he asked. "Kidnap you? Drag you down into the basement and see whether Berg Castle has dungeons where I can lock you up? Maybe it's news for you, but it's permitted to take a holiday. Your father does it. All your, all our relatives do it. Even the Queen of England does it. Do you really want to see how long it takes you until you crash? Because, honestly, Guillaume, I don't think it's very far off."

"Amedeo."

Amedeo glared at him and refused to back down.

"Seriously, Amedeo, that window overlooks the courtyard, so if you don't want my mother to know what your backside looks like..."

He froze for a moment, then very nonchalantly moved further towards the middle of the room and out of the line of sight. "It's not like she's never seen me naked," he pointed out and managed not to look through the window to check whether anyone might have been watching.

Guillaume was visibly struggling to keep from laughing. "You were five at the time and got yourself doused in lemonade, I'm not sure it counts."

"Do I need to remind you who emptied the pitcher over my head?" Amedeo asked primly, returning to sit on the edge of the bed on Guillaume's side. "Love... if you've got a reason not to go beyond 'there's so much to do', I'm not going to force you. But the idea is for you to relax for a few days." He offered a little smile. "Besides, you need to train up for the honeymoon, otherwise those weeks without anything work-related are going to come as a huge shock."

His lover met his eyes, then heaved a sigh. "William did say he wanted to talk to me about something, so the extra time might be useful," he conceded. "But I'm going to hold you to your promise about e-mail and phone calls."

Amedeo pretended to consider, then nodded and solemnly held out his hand. "Agreed," he said.

Guillaume's fingers closed around his. "Agreed," he confirmed, then pulled Amedeo towards him for a kiss.

***

"Finally I get someone to run with," Carl said to him as the guards waved them through the gates that enclosed Buckingham Palace, early in the morning two weeks later. "I can't usually convince Wills to come along. Are you doing a marathon again this year?"

Amedeo nodded. "The Luxembourg one this summer; the press staff had me signed up practically as soon as they heard that I wanted to do something. It's just about the best incentive I can think of to keep up the training."

"Leaving a good impression with your new country? Nice motivation." Carl led them around the northern side of the palace, past another group of guards. Going for a run in London, Amedeo had been told when he'd asked about the possibility yesterday, was a bit more complicated than what he was used to. Normally all he had to worry about were water intake and split times, but in London there were matters like paparazzi, crazed royalty fans and security threats to take into consideration. So when Carl had offered to take him along for his own morning run on the private tracks of Buckingham Park, Amedeo had pounced at the offer.

They left their jumpers and water bottles on a bench by the path, then set out at a slow pace for their first round.

"Thanks for making Wills talk to Guillaume, by the way," Amedeo said when they crossed the small brook on one of the wooden bridges and headed further into the park.

Carl glanced at him, then looked ahead again. "No problem. Did it help?"

"It's made the discussion whether we'd come or not a lot shorter than it would otherwise have been, that much is for sure. An official appointment he can delegate, but a personal request for a private talk? He can't ignore that." And it had been a valuable argument when Guillaume had attempted to wriggle out of their trip on account of the airspace restrictions in light of a ground personnel strike.

Carl Philip sped up when they came past a hedge of forsythia bushes. "As long as talking is all he does," he said, his breath coming a little faster, "and remembers that he isn't allowed to molest my husband."

Amedeo cast him a quick look to gauge his mood, and saw a hint of a smile on his face.

"Nah, no reason to worry, he's got me along, he won't have the energy to molest Wills as well." And they’d had plenty of fun last night, enough that even Guillaume had for once looked almost tempted to sleep in rather than rise at his usual ungodly hour. But then, before Amedeo had really managed to blink more than one eye open, let alone raise his head from the pillows, his lover had already been up and about and was quietly getting dressed. By the time Amedeo had been awake enough that he could have voiced a protest at the incongruence of a day off and getting up before six in the morning, Guillaume had already been gone, presumably in search for that all-important first cup of coffee. There were times when Amedeo wondered whether he or caffeine came first where Guillaume's affections were concerned. So far he hadn't felt brave enough to figure out the answer.

They completed the rest of the first lap in companionable silence, their breaths visible in the cold morning air, and when they came back towards the stretch of gravel path by the palace, Amedeo thought for a moment he saw the Queen of England looking down at them from one of the windows.

"How are you two holding up, anyway?" Carl asked at the beginning of their second lap. "Two more months to your wedding... I remember what it was like for us by that time. Not something I want to repeat."

"I can't wait for it to be over, to be honest," Amedeo admitted, raising his hand to adjust his headband. "It's not even as if we're planning a big ceremony, or a Church wedding, for that matter. Doing one of those must take an army to plan."

Carl laughed briefly. "You're not far off. Vicky's wedding probably was the biggest Bernadotte operation ever since good old Jean Baptiste's military expeditions. The last few weeks leading up to it were just insane."

"Tell me it gets easier afterwards?" Amedeo requested. A gaggle of ducks crossed the path before them and bolted for the pond to their left when they came too close.

"It gets easier," Carl repeated.

"Now say it in a way that sounds actually believable?"

There was another laugh from Carl at that. "You'll survive it," he said. "Count yourselves lucky, you're not getting a quarter of the media attention we did. Just take it one day at a time until the wedding, and after that enjoy the honeymoon. It does get simpler once everything calms down again."

"Whenever that's going to be." Amedeo increased their pace a bit more for the second half of the lap. "Keeping it all a secret had its drawbacks, but it was a lot easier in other ways."

"It's worth every hassle, I promise you that," Carl said, his voice rougher than before from the growing exertion. "You must have had the same situation we did... visits every few weeks, for a few days at best. And we had to deal with that for a few months. You had years. Do you really want to go back to that?"

"No," Amedeo answered firmly. He truly didn't. With Guillaume he had found his balance, and all the drawbacks to the situation paled in comparison to the simple fact that this was where he felt genuinely happy. He could wish for fewer obstacles and complications, but he'd never want to give this up.

"Well, then." Carl threw him a knowing look. "If it gets too much with the attention, just keep in mind that nobody is going to speculate about babies and check whether you're putting on weight or wearing flat heels all of a sudden. That drove Vicky and Madde completely crazy. Still does, actually. At least they aren't in Bea's shoes, with her it's all about marriage speculations. Hey, you want to do her a favour? Invite her for your marathon, she'll love it."

Just as the organisers of the Luxembourg event would, Amedeo knew. An English princess? The next realistic heir after Wills? They'd dance on the spot with excitement to have her participate.

"I'll suggest it to her," he promised, lengthening his stride for a few steps so he'd stay at Carl's side even though he was on the outside for the drawn-out corner. "Is she going to be at the match this afternoon?"

Carl nodded. "Probably, yes. She's getting more of these things scheduled now that Wills and I are officially married. She's still a few slots down in the succession, but in all but name she's his heir apparent."

Which made no difference on paper, but a huge difference to the situation. Once you were heir apparent, there was no getting out anymore, while as heir presumptive - as Amedeo could personally attest since he'd de facto played that role to Philippe for almost twenty years - you could hope to be let off the hook eventually. Unless, of course, you ended up finding yourself another heir to a throne as your partner in life. At least his training wasn't completely wasted.

"How is she dealing with it all?" he asked as they stopped to have a drink of water.

"Not too badly." Carl unscrewed his bottle, then took a quick first draught. "She and Félix apparently had a good long talk yesterday when the girls stopped by to meet him. Eugenie claims there was a lot of muttering about cousins and brothers pushing them into the spotlight, and about how there are big expectations in terms of future babysitting." He glanced at Amedeo. "I suggest you learn how to change nappies."

"I was seventeen when Laetitia came along, babysitting isn't anything new. And Guillaume's got two nephews already, he's had his share of practise." Amedeo had another mouthful of water and slowly swallowed. "We probably don't have to worry."

"Good for you, I'm going to have to train up Wills once it comes to pass. Fortunately Vicky is pregnant again, we can borrow her baby then and teach him the basics." Carl put down his water and stretched his arms. "Ready for another lap? We should give Wills a little more time to talk some sense into Guillaume."

Amedeo sighed. "That's probably for the best," he panted as they headed past the duck pond again, pushing harder this time. "It takes a while to get the message through when he doesn't want to hear it."

"That bad?" Carl asked, his breathing audible as well now.

"I think he sees it, he just can't figure out what to do about it. Or how to admit that it's a problem in the first place." Amedeo paused and focused for a moment on sidestepping a branch on the ground. "I'm counting on Wills to make him understand. For some reason Guillaume seems to listen to him."

Carl smirked. "Wills is good, that way," he said with a touch of pride to his voice. "Even with hopeless cases."

"All that practise with you made him perfect?" Amedeo shot back, then prudently threw himself into his best speed for a few seconds to safely get ten steps ahead.

"Brat," he heard Carl grumble behind him, just before their final round turned into a chase.

***

Amedeo had spent enough years of his life in England to know his way around polo, but not long enough to really see the appeal or shake the sneaking suspicion that, like curling, it was the result of a dare after a night of drunken debauchery.

Still, as long as all participants had fun, and all non-participants were supplied with drinks, snacks and, last but not least, good company, he didn't have any objections to standing around on the sidelines for a few hours while watching Harry getting thrown off his pony once again. Fun seemed to be had by the riders on the field as well and the current company wasn't anything to complain about either, even though he couldn't help wondering why Pierre kept giving him sidelong glances as they stood next to each other. He didn't think it was because of his relationship with Guillaume - Pierre was Andrea's brother, after all, and Amedeo had never heard even a whiff of him being anything but laid back. More likely his big brother had been telling stories of quixotic Habsburg ancestors again.

Amedeo briefly entertained the idea of mentioning that one of the ancestors the Habsburgs and Grimaldis had in common had suffered from clinical lycanthropy and had believed himself to be a werewolf. Then again, Pierre might not find that too reassuring.

"Do you think there is an agreement that gets Harry extra charity money if he flies off in a spectacular fashion?" he asked, only half joking as Harry's horse sent its rider bouncing to the ground once more.

"If there is, they're getting their money's worth today." Pierre winced as Harry picked himself off the grass and rubbed his by now green-stained rump, then chased after his horse, which had taken off in a sassy canter.

On Amedeo's other side - and he had the feeling it wasn't coincidence that he was serving as a buffer towards the youngest Casiraghi - Guillaume was slowly turning into a bundle of nerves now that Félix and his team were playing.

It had been a simply astonishing sight to find him dressed in just a pair of slacks and a shirt - with the top two buttons _undone_ \- and no tie. Amedeo had no idea what William had said to Guillaume, but he'd spent the last hour hovering between admiring him for performing such a miracle, and being slightly afraid of him. He couldn't tell yet whether the discussion between the two of them had any results beyond getting Guillaume out of his standard suit and tie combination and into something occasion-appropriate and downright casual, but the unbuttoned shirt was a promising sign.

"I didn't know that Félix is actually good at this," Amedeo said as they watched the away team's attack on the goal barely being thwarted by Harry's best efforts to ride Félix off course.

Guillaume briefly glanced up at him before returning his attention to the game. "Me neither," he admitted. "I was aware he played, but I didn't think he really had time to train much."

"You need to visit him in Rome one of these days," Pierre said, leaned forward against the top beam of the fence so he could talk to Guillaume. "On the weekend you're guaranteed to find him on a horse. He's worse than my sister."

Rome? Amedeo shot Guillaume a look and saw the knowing flicker in his lover's eyes, but didn't make the suggestion out loud. Right now he was determined to enjoy England; there'd be time for future plans once they survived the upcoming weeks.

One of the accredited photographers came up to them then and they dutifully posed for pictures, first with Pierre, then just the two of them. It was a part of royal life which Amedeo wasn't so sure about yet, this constant need to play a role in public, and he was grateful whenever he had Guillaume by his side as a guideline for how long to go along with the photographers and journalists and when to draw a line and request privacy. The amazing thing was that if Guillaume asked them to step back, all polite and serious, they actually acquiesced.

This time it wasn't necessary, though, not when Wills had already made it clear to the media that they weren't allowed to bother anyone, probably with an unspoken addition that this went especially for Carl Philip. Amedeo had heard some rumours about new arrangements with the press; considering Carl's dislike of media attention he couldn't say he was particularly surprised.

Still, this was charity they were doing here, and while the majority of the money came from a small group of donors who'd purchased expensive tickets and who'd be handing over demonstrative cheques later on to publicise on their company websites for good PR, favourable press attention mattered. And so Amedeo took his cues from Guillaume and looked excited at the photographer's request, even though the players had already ridden off the field to change ponies.

They were done by the time the next chukka started and the action began to pick up with a goal for the home team, accompanied by excited cheers from their supporters. Amedeo spotted Harry's wife, her hand locked on Carl's arm in a tight grip as they watched the next attack. Then the direction spun around, towards the other goal, Félix and one of his teammates up ahead, and by Amedeo's side Guillaume appeared to decide that right now he needed to be less the Hereditary Grand Duke and more Félix' brother and cheer him on.

Polo, Amedeo thought when he suddenly found himself caught in a quick and entirely unexpected hug from Guillaume in celebration of the goal, perhaps had some redeeming values after all.

The chukka came to a close with two more goals for the away team - not followed by any more celebratory cuddling, much to Amedeo's regret - and the players went off for the last break. Wills and Harry were conferring in a corner, presumably to hatch a new strategy and regain the upper hand, while Félix and his three team mates looked as though they could barely believe their luck.

"Looks like we'll end up with horses in Berg once he comes back from Italy," Amedeo said, watching Félix untie the reins of his fresh pony.

Guillaume nodded, a fond expression on his face as he leaned his arms against the top rail of the wooden fence. "Probably. We used to have them while he and Louis were still at home, but they were the only two really interested in horseback riding."

"Time to fix up the stables in that case," Amedeo reached out and rested his hand on top of Guillaume's, a small gesture which he figured was acceptable under the circumstances. "Still regretting that you came along?" he asked quietly when Pierre wandered off to find something to drink and they had some privacy.

Guillaume glanced at him. "This really matters to you, doesn't it?" he asked.

"You matter to me," Amedeo said, briefly tightening his hold. "And you've been running yourself into the ground."

"I'm relaxing now, am I not? We're on a break, we aren't working, and I'll have you know I didn't even check my email this morning."

Amedeo gave him a little smile. "This _is_ work, Guillaume. You may not be sitting around in a suit and taking notes or making speeches, but it's still important. Look at your parents, they attend plenty of events like this."

"It's expected of them," Guillaume said.

Amedeo sighed and tried a different approach. "Let me put it into numbers for you. Did Wills tell you how much money they're raising for their charity today? It's a six digit figure, ten times as much as they'd get if it were just the two of them playing for a regular audience. At a conservative estimate I'd say that every single royal head they convinced to attend today brings in fifty thousand pounds. And that's not counting the smaller donations they'll receive because of the added publicity."

He watched Guillaume add up the numbers in his head and look faintly impressed at the outcome.

"You've done your work for today, Guillaume. If you stand around here and cheer on Félix, it has as much of an effect on people as if you sit down for a trade meeting. Both are important, as long as they're balanced."

Guillaume raised an eyebrow at him. "I should have known better than to take up with a trained consultant," he remarked.

"As if I'm going to charge you for my analysis."

"It's not the analysis that worries me, it's the sales pitch." Guillaume pushed away from the fence to turn more fully towards Amedeo, his expression open but his arms crossed in front of his chest in a thorough conflict of signals. "So you're saying you want me to spend more time standing around in muddy fields?"

"As long as you do it instead of a twelve-hour workday and not on top of it." Amedeo tilted his head and tried to figure out how aggressively to push his points right now. "I really do want to keep you for more than ten years, so don't work yourself into an early grave, you hear?"

"William gave me twenty."

Amedeo narrowed his eyes. "Wills is optimistic," he grumbled.

They both looked towards the field as the two teams rode in again, then Guillaume turned back to Amedeo. "You didn't have to enlist him, you know. I get what you've been trying to tell me."

"Emphasis on trying. And I didn't _enlist_ him, he figured it out by himself after he saw you during their Luxembourg trip and later in Monaco." He reached for Guillaume's hand again and felt him tense briefly before relaxing. "I'm not asking you to stop, I know that's never going to be an option. But I'm asking you to take better care of yourself, and part of that is occasionally taking a weekend off. Or doing a trip like this one."

The expression in Guillaume's eyes was hard to read, and for a moment Amedeo suspected he had pushed too far. It had been a constant reason of not-quite-disagreement between them for the past weeks, and while he was aware it had to be more than a little irritating by now, he also wasn't going to back down until he didn't get at least the beginning of a result. So he held his lover's gaze and counted on the semi-public situation to keep them from descending into a full-blown argument after all.

But then Guillaume just shook his head, raised his free hand to brush a strand of hair out of his face, and said, "I'll try. I'm not making promises, mind, and I can't go and overthrow my schedule completely from tomorrow on. But I'll try."

Amedeo blinked at him in surprise. "That's... I'm going to have to ask Wills to talk to you more often if he has such an effect on you." A strategic half-step to the left let him lean against Guillaume from hip to shoulder while still looking innocent; not the contact he wanted, not by a long shot, but for now it had to do.

Much to his credit Guillaume didn't move away, but instead pushed lightly back. "Like I said, don't expect immediate changes. But I'll see what I can do."

For just a moment, Amedeo leaned their heads together before withdrawing again, not bothering to hide his relief at seeing them finally take a step in the right direction. "If we weren't in public..." he murmured.

He heard Guillaume chuckle. "Patience is a virtue."

"It's not exactly virtue I'm interested in." His gaze flicked to Guillaume's collar and the two undone buttons, so very, very tempting in the way they offered a tantalising glimpse of bare skin usually hidden behind dress shirt and tie. He wondered whether Guillaume was aware that the hickey at the crook of his neck was quite visible like this.

Guillaume gave him a gentle shove. "Behave," he chided.

Amedeo smirked at him, eyes once more flicking to the shadow at his throat before meeting his eyes. "Don't worry, I'm not exactly turned on by an audience."

"Could have fooled me," he heard his lover mutter, but before he could comment there was the thudding of approaching hooves and Harry came riding up to them, scruffy and covered in dust by now, grass clinging to his helmet.

They stepped apart - just slightly, this was Harry, after all - and watched as he brought his pony to a halt in front of them on the other side of the fence.

"Does either of you play polo?" he asked, scratching his neck and absently brushing off some dirt crumbs. "We've just been offered ten thousand pounds for every royal we can get on a horse for a match."

The attraction of paying a lot of money to make royalty look silly... Amedeo shrugged and looked up at him. "I've done it, but admittedly never while entirely sober."

Harry waved his hand dismissively. "Sobriety is overrated," he said, reining in his horse when it got too interested in the grass at its hooves. "Do you think you can hit the ball? That's all we're looking for."

It had been a while, but... how hard could it be? "Should be manageable, as long as you don't expect me to actually do anything useful."

"Nah, we'll distribute the actual players across the teams, we just need a few extras who won't kill themselves - or someone else - if we give them a mallet and put them on a pony. Guillaume? Ever played?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Amedeo saw his lover shake his head. "No, sorry. I can ride, but that's about it."

"Never mind then, just go sit with Alex then so she's got someone's arm to hang on to, we're recruiting Carl so she'll need a substitute." Harry kicked his foot free from the stirrup and stretched his leg, rubbing his gloved palm over the grass stains on his knee. "I swear, I've got no idea why she's so anxious about it all. Amedeo, go see Wills about borrowing his spare kit, that should just about be the right size," he ordered, then straightened up and looked around. "Anyone seen Pierre? Félix says he plays."

And off he was again, nudging his horse into a trot as he headed for the other side of the field, presumably in pursuit of his next victim.

Amedeo watched him go, then turned towards Guillaume at the touch of his lover's hand on his arm.

"You're sure this is a good idea?" Guillaume asked him, and he was surprised to see genuine concern in his eyes. True, they had never done anything involving horses together, but Amedeo didn't think there were any members of royal families anywhere who'd never been shoved into a saddle and given enough lessons to stay up there and look reasonably competent.

He pushed away from the fence. "Don't worry, I'm not going to try and set any records. A bit of riding about, a few shots at the ball... what's the worst that can happen?"

He had the answer to that question by the end of the day, when he lay stretched out in bed, groaning into the pillow while Guillaume worked the kinks out of the over-strained muscles in his back and legs.

Wills had taken one look at him as he'd cautiously inched out of the car after their return to the St James Palace complex and told them they didn't have to bother with attending dinner. A suggestion Amedeo had protested, of course (even though he had been more than tempted to accept it, and knew he wouldn't have had any complaints from Guillaume). That dinner, just for the handful of young royals who'd followed William's invitation to their polo match, wasn't something Amedeo would have missed for the world, and certainly not because of a sore arse. Wills appeared to get the idea and hadn't repeated his suggestion; he'd merely stopped by their guest suite ten minutes later and dropped off liniment and massage oil with a far too amused grin on his face.

Under normal circumstances Amedeo wouldn't have lain still for long, not with Guillaume's hands firmly gripping the back of his thighs, slippery with oil. But right now, with the sharp smell of arnica in his nose, even the slightest twitch simply seemed like too much of an effort despite the temptation. He moaned when Guillaume hit a sore spot - from the first fall, presumably, since he couldn't remember landing on his backside the second or third time - and buried his face in the pillow with a slow sigh.

"If you get me to ease up on my workload," he heard Guillaume say, and roused enough to focus on the words, "does that mean I can make you stop trying to break your neck the next time someone comes up to you with such an idea?"

"S'not my fault Pierre scared my horse because he couldn't hit a barn door if he tried," he protested drowsily. "Besides, we had helmets."

"Which probably is why your head isn't the part of your anatomy that's currently turning an interesting shade of blue," Guillaume remarked dryly.

"I'll be fine." Though not sitting comfortably for a few days. By now Amedeo remembered why he'd given up horseback riding a few years ago.

The mattress dipped slightly as Guillaume leaned down and dropped a kiss on the sensitive spot between his shoulder blades that made him arch his back, then yelp when sore muscles seized up again at the movement. "Tell me that again when you're incapable of walking in a few hours."

"It's been for a good cause," Amedeo murmured, sighing contentedly when Guillaume's clever fingers resumed their work. "Can't say it's not worth it."

***

Much to Amedeo's continuing amazement, the days in England had a lasting effect on Guillaume's working habits.

"I have no idea what you said to him, but it's had a major impact," he told Wills a week later, at the end of a call about arranging an official trip to London sometime in summer as a response to the British state visit to Luxembourg a few months ago. "He's made time for breakfast, he's not sacrificing every waking hour... yesterday he was home before I was, if you can believe it."

On the other end of the line, Wills chuckled. "He just needed a little nudge in the right direction."

"He's taking _lunch breaks_!"

"With you, I hope."

"Whenever we're in the same place at the time, yes." Which wasn't so often these days, now that Philippe seemed to be determined to get his money's worth out of Amedeo as a Belgian prince before signing him over to Luxembourg for good. He had the impression that by now his uncle regretted letting him wander off to New York for years to find his own way when he could have been recruited for the family effort much sooner.

Wills hummed knowingly. "I told you the weeks leading up to the wedding are going to get tough. Be glad you knew it was coming."

"That, and they're occasionally letting me accompany Guillaume on his appointments now, so I'm doing double duty whenever something suitable crops up." Amedeo collected the print-outs of his cue cards for tomorrow and went back to his desk to leave them there for a final review in the morning. "It's a good arrangement, though."

"And a practical way to get people used to seeing you two together," Wills agreed. "Positive publicity and all that... oh, on that note, is there a chance we can ship Harry over to you for an event or two next week?"

Amedeo frowned and sat down at his desk, immediately suspicious. He liked Harry, but he also knew him too well to simply say yes to that sort of suggestion. "What's he done this time?" he asked, leaning back in his chair.

William sounded faintly evasive. "Nothing so bad, at least not by his standards. But if there were some of those 'Prince visits foreign land and praises the efforts of the natives' reports... Doesn't your agricultural season start off these days? He could pet Belgian piglets somewhere, surely. He'll bring his own wellies."

"Wills, don't get me wrong, I'm grateful for your help with Guillaume and I owe you one for that. But there's no way I'm inviting Harry for an official event without knowing why. For some reason I don't fancy having a reporter come up to me and ask what I think about Harry painting your helicopter pink, or whatever else he got up to this time. I want advance warning if I'll be dealing with that sort of questions, if only so I don't keel over laughing."

There was a brief silence before William heaved a sigh. "He got rat-arsed last night and tried to climb into Clarence House through a first-floor window. Stark naked. On the street side, so a few reporters got an eyeful."

Amedeo blinked. "We'll need really cute piglets to counter that one," was all he could think of. "A lot of them."

Wills grumbled in agreement. "Throw in a few kittens on top of it if you can," he said.

"I'll find you the best piglets in Belgium, with the curliest tails," Amedeo promised, calling up his schedule for the coming days. "I've got a full day with the Namur province Scouts on Saturday, will that do? They told me to wear outdoor gear and bring a change of clothes. And it's on a farm, so piglets may actually be involved." It wasn't a typical event to invite foreign royalty, but from what he'd seen Harry was good with children, and definitely not above playing along.

"Perfect. Do we need to speak to anyone official about this?"

Amedeo copy-pasted the information, then e-mailed it to Wills. "Give Philippe's office a heads-up, they like to know if they've got foreign royalty around. I'll talk to security, I guess we'll need some if Harry is around. If it's just me, they usually don't bother with more than one guard, and I can normally convince him to have coffee while he waits for me. Or is Harry going to bring his own?"

"Don't worry about that, he'll have some of ours. Harry needs... special attention, there's no way we can inflict him on guards who haven't dealt with anyone worse than your sisters in a teenage tantrum."

Amedeo laughed. "Just goes to show that you have no sisters, or you wouldn't say that. I'll have you know that Luisa in a snit is a fearsome experience." One last check whether he had everything he needed for tomorrow, then he shut down his laptop. "Go tell Harry about your plans for him, and I'll break it to Guillaume that I'll play host in Brussels for the weekend."

"I hadn't thought of that," Wills said, sounding contrite. "Do you want to look for something else? Or I can ask Victoria if she's got something suitable so we can get him out of the country."

A second copy of his cue cards into the briefcase, then the folder with background information for the afternoon meeting with the archaeology association he needed to read up on during lunch... "No, don't worry. Guillaume's going to be tied up with a trade board delegation for all of Saturday and part of Sunday and I can't participate in that yet, so I'd just be sitting around by myself once I'm done with my own tasks."

"I thought he's easing up?" William asked, changing from contrite to disapproving, and it was reassuring to know that someone else would glower at Guillaume if necessary.

"He's taking off Monday," Amedeo said, and still felt a little stunned at the idea. "The entire day. I don't think that's happened since I moved in with him. But anyway, don't worry, Harry can keep me from becoming being bored."

Harry indeed kept him from getting bored. By the end of the weekend, Amedeo breathed a heartfelt sigh of relief after delivering him to the airport for the flight back to London and, as soon as he was back in Colmar, collapsed face-down into bed and stayed there for twelve hours, not twitching a muscle.

"I have no idea how Alex survives him," he murmured into his coffee the next morning, once Guillaume had managed to coax and cajole him out of bed and into the kitchen for breakfast. "It's not like we didn't have fun, but... for crying out loud, I'm younger than him, I'm capable of running a marathon, he's not supposed to be able to wear me down like that."

Guillaume patted his shoulder in consolation and dropped a fresh croissant onto his plate. "He's got a toddler at home, that's the best training. Just ask Louis."

Amedeo eyed the croissant dubiously and decided to stick to coffee for now and forego actual food until he felt at least marginally awake.

"What's the schedule for today?" he asked while pouring himself a third cup. Guillaume pushed sugar and milk towards him, but he ignored it in favour of more undiluted caffeine.

Another pat, then Guillaume leaned down to give him a peck on the cheek. "No schedule," he said. "It's Monday, remember? I promised I'd take the day off to make up for the weekend."

Amedeo's hand stilled, cup of coffee halfway between the tabletop and his mouth as he slowly twisted around to look up at his lover.

"Tell me you're serious," he demanded, eyes wide.

Guillaume blinked down at him. "Of course I'm serious. Why wouldn't I be?"

He opened his mouth to answer, closed it, tried again, then just shook his head and instead reached out to pull Guillaume down into a fierce kiss, even coffee forgotten in his need to demonstrate his approval.

They ended up doing absolutely nothing for the entire day - an absolute rarity, and Amedeo could barely remember the last time they'd been able to simply have a day to themselves, with not even bags to pack for the next trip or preparation work to catch up on. It was almost like going back to their private weekends, when they'd both crammed all obligations, tasks and duties into the days before or after because their time together was too rare to spend on anything else. Living together meant seeing more of each other, but it also brought constant interruptions and concessions. An entire undisturbed day qualified as pure luxury.

By noon they'd relocated out onto the southern terrace's sunniest spot; even the weather cooperated and gave them a warm spring day with a cloudless sky, simply too good to spend inside. Amedeo could get used to this: book in one hand, the other leisurely occupied with petting Guillaume's hair as they sprawled on one of the wide loungers together for a much-needed chance to unwind.

"It's the neighbour, I bet," Guillaume mused, lowering his own book for a moment. "Anyone with a herb garden is capable of murder."

Amedeo interrupted the epic spy showdown he was just in the middle of to glance at him, eyebrows raised. "You've got a herb garden," he pointed out. "Well, the castle does, at least. Should I be worried?"

"Not unless it's possible to poison someone with basil, it's the only herb I'm sure I recognise." Guillaume wriggled a bit closer and Amedeo obligingly shifted position until they were comfortable again, Guillaume's head now leaning against his shoulder rather than the thickly padded back rest. "Gardeners are always suspect."

Since an answer didn't seem required or even expected, Amedeo returned his attention to his own novel to find out whether the world was going to end on the next few pages. Probably not, he figured, but you could never be entirely certain how these things turned out, at least not if you thoroughly suspended disbelief. Reading was a rare pleasure these days, at least when it came to fiction; almost all texts that came his way now were preparatory information and dossiers of some sort. Spy novels and detective stories were rare treats, despite the temptation of having each other's library collections within easy reach for browsing. To be able to do so while comfortably curled up with Guillaume, quietly sharing each other's company... it made up for much of the stress of the past months.

An hour later, Guillaume grumbled wordlessly in satisfaction and put his book down. "I knew it," he declared.

Amedeo had dozed off after finishing his own a while ago, and blinked an eye open. "Gardener?" he murmured.

"Gardener."

He rolled his shoulders to ease stiff muscles, then leaned forward to catch Guillaume in a sloppy kiss. "Well done," he praised. "If the career as grand duke doesn't work out for some reason, you can always go into crime investigation."

***

"There's no chance you'll make it back in time?" Amedeo asked, a sinking feeling to his stomach. He should have known that unexpected phone calls from Guillaume never were a good sign, in particular when his lover was supposed to already be on his flight back from Moscow.

"If the departure of the alternate flight is on time, I might make it by half time break, but..." Guillaume trailed off, and Amedeo heard him grumble wordlessly with the same disapproval he felt himself. "I'm sorry."

Amedeo pinched the bridge of his nose, then grew even more irritated when he caught himself at it when he'd tried for months to eliminate that nervous tic. "Not your fault, love," he sighed. "But I'm starting to think you pissed off a witch somewhere. The way international air travel shuts down whenever you are trying to go somewhere is beginning to really weird me out."

There was a quiet chuckle from Guillaume. "I'd say one of your Italian grandmothers put a curse on me, but they couldn't have known about us when it started... could they?"

"Trust me, I'd have heard of it if that had been the case." Possibly more than just heard of it, given that one of his grandmothers had attempted to put Uncle Laurent through an exorcism to cure him of a few quirks, and the other saw nothing wrong with the fact that her cousins had gotten into a fist fight in the middle of the Spanish Crown Prince's wedding to settle a family feud.

"No curse then, just coincidence?," Guillaume asked. "I'm not sure I find that reassuring."

"Me neither." Curses could be lifted, coincidences could go on forever. "So what am I supposed to do? Go by myself? It's the Luxembourgian football team, I'm not sure how they'll take it if I'm the only one to show up."

"You're almost Luxembourgian by now, they'll be just as happy with you as with anyone else."

That sounded more optimistic than Amedeo suspected Guillaume felt about it, but something else, more worrisome, occurred to him then. Uncle Henri out of the country, Guillaume gone as well, all his siblings, too... "I'm not regent, am I? Tell me your father made sure there's someone else in the country before he and your mother went on their Sweden trip. I don't think I'm supposed to be left here all by myself, that might count as an automatic annexation to Belgium."

Guillaume laughed. "Grandfather's got it covered, don't worry. And isn't Félix there already? He was supposed to come home for the weekend."

"I don't know, I'm still in the city; if he's in the country, he definitely didn't stop by the Palace." Félix? That might just save him, a genuine Luxembourgian prince rather than just a pretend one. "Let me give him a call and see. Going with him is a lot better than going by myself. They might think of it as sabotage if the outcome isn't what they expect."

There was a sigh now. "Amedeo, I hate to break this to you, but you're going to have to get used to the fact that Luxembourgian qualification chances exist on paper only. Go, call Félix. I'll text you once I'm back in the country, we'll see if there's a point in coming to the stadium after all."

Félix - barely across the border when Amedeo called him - wasn't exactly delighted at the idea of being roped into royal duty before he'd had a chance to even unpack, but he grudgingly agreed that leaving Amedeo to uphold the national colours by himself wasn't an option, since those weren't his national colours yet to begin with.

"What's Guillaume's explanation for not catching his flight?" he asked when Amedeo dropped into the passenger seat as soon as the car came to a halt at the Palace's side entrance.

"Witchcraft," Amedeo said as he fastened his seat belt.

Félix, still a bit ruffled from his flight and the drive, just snorted and drove off. "Of course. Not like he just plans it too tightly every time. How many flights to New York has he missed in the past years?"

"Not counting the ones he can legitimately blame on force majeure or other people?"

Félix flicked the indicator and changed lanes. "I don't think he had a hand in the ash cloud issues. The strikes of the ground personnel... probably not his fault either, he can be irritating but not on that sort of scale."

"Three, in that case." Amedeo grinned. "He wisened up once he figured out the consequences."

The remark earned him a groan in reply. "Amedeo, I like you, I really do, but there are some things about you and Guillaume I _really_ don't want to imagine. Just like I don't want to imagine them about Louis and Tessy. So do me a favour and don't mention them so I don't have to make you get out and walk the rest of the way?"

Amedeo gave him an innocent look. "I was going to say that I made him do the dishes."

The answering glare was easy to ignore after years of practise with exasperated looks from Guillaume. He simply smiled for a few seconds in reply, until Félix rolled his eyes and changed the topic. "Is there anything special planned for us?"

Amedeo shook his head. "Handshakes with all the functionaries, but that's it. Guillaume asked to keep it low-key, I doubt they're going to change their plans just because it's you instead of him now. Unless you want them to?"

"God, no. I want to see a nice game of footie and be as unofficial as possible." He took a right turn off the main road and towards the stadium - even after all this time it never failed to amaze Amedeo how close together everything was here - and within a few minutes they were on their way towards the VIP section to collect their passes.

Amedeo had been to a few Belgian games in an official capacity over the years, and it was almost amusing to see how different it was. Here, a few thousand tickets had been sold - which meant the stadium was almost full - and people looked more as though they were on their way to a picnic than to a football game. It wasn't quite the atmosphere he was used to, but it held a certain rustic charm even though it didn't bode well for the expected outcome of the upcoming game. It might be a tiny country with a practically non-existent success record, but even so he'd expected a bigger crowd.

At the base of the steps leading up to the VIP section, Félix paused. "Anything we need to coordinate?" he asked.

"I don't think so," Amedeo said as he adjusted the strap of his pass (which probably wasn't necessary since even if they didn't recognise him, they'd definitely recognise Félix, but functionaries everywhere seemed to love seeing their association logo dangling from the necks of attending dignitaries). "Doesn't make much of a difference, really, whether I escort you or Guillaume. Well, aside from the fact that I'd be attempting to snog him in an unobserved corner and I'm not going to give that a try with you."

"You'd better not. My little countess is into karate, she'd floor you if you tried."

Amedeo had to bite back a flippant reply to that when a group of well-rounded elderly men in suits came towards them. Most of them he recognised from the pictures he'd studied in preparation, but he politely went along with introductions, handshakes and smiles at not-that-funny jokes about Belgian football.

Then it was the turn of the handful of reporters - who looked disappointed at finding Amedeo accompanying the wrong prince, and who seemed more interested in the whereabouts of Guillaume than anything else, though one or two of them eventually remembered this was supposed to be about football tonight.

"Prince Félix, are you looking forward to the match already?" one of them asked. "What do you expect?"

Félix was wearing an expression Amedeo recognised from Guillaume, a blend of gravitas and interest that only looked good after years and years of practise. "I'm sure the players will show themselves from their best side today, and that they'll make a respectable opponent for the Serbian team. It is a tough challenge, but they have played fine football these past months, especially with the draw against Hungary and of course the two-nil victory over the Faroe Islands, so I think we'll see a good game tonight."

The reporter appeared satisfied by that and turned to Amedeo, who was still struggling against the urge to applaud Félix for all that diplomacy. "And what about you, Your Imperial and Royal Highness? It's your first time watching the Luxembourg team, isn't it?"

He winced at the use of his full style of address, a mouthful he'd never been fond of, but nodded. "It is indeed, and I'm excited about getting to see the team in action. It's an important match tonight, and I'm sure everybody will do their absolute best."

It was a little tricky to avoid pronouns, since he wasn't certain whether to say 'we' or 'they', but with a bit of concentration he got through the rest of the questions without stumbling over the issue.

"One last question, Prince Amedeo, any predictions on the result?"

Amedeo gave the reporter a cheerful smile, blinking at the sudden flashlight of the cameras when the handful of photographers took aim. "I'm sure that the Luxembourgian team will give their very best. A qualification for the world championship next year is still on the table, after all-"

"Only with a four-nil victory tonight, though," Félix interrupted, eyebrows raised.

"Yes, with a four-nil for Luxembourg, thank you. So I think that's going to be the outcome, though I won't object to be proven wrong by a higher score, of course."

The comment earned him fascinated stares from reporters and functionaries alike, who looked like they weren't sure whether to believe their ears. The interviews wound down quickly after that and they were escorted to the small VIP corner, just in time for the national anthems.

"You realise you just made it plain you have no idea of football?" Félix hissed as they took their seats and the match kicked off. "Four goals? Man, I'm Luxembourgian and I'd love to see that, but there's optimism and then there's the simple fact that Serbia's going to wipe the pit with us tonight."

Amedeo shrugged. "It never hurts to think positive sometimes," he returned. "Besides, what was I supposed to say? 'Sorry, I think you're a tiny nation with zero chances in this match and we might as well give three points to Serbia now, have a round of drinks together and call it a night'? That wouldn't have gone down well with anyone."

"All right, point taken," Félix conceded. "But you'd better prepared for them to mention this bit for years whenever you show up in a footie context."

This prediction had a good chance of coming true by the end of the following ninety minutes, if not entirely in the way Félix had probably intended it.

The first half was entirely uneventful and Amedeo, a casual football watcher at best, only managed to maintain his interested look because he knew there occasionally were cameras trained on them, if only because the princes on the stands had to make for better entertainment than what was going on down on the field. The ball flew back and forth, players occasionally fell over - with and without help of the opposing team - and the audience actually roused once in a while when the ball reached the general vicinity of a goal. For Luxembourg, Amedeo figured, it wasn't a bad show; you just couldn't expect too much of a country that had trouble finding enough professional players to fill the roster of the national team.

It all turned around in the second half.

"Sorry, I won't be able to make it," Guillaume apologised when he finally called, well into the second part of the match. "The plane just landed, but by the time I can be at the stadium it's going to be over."

"You may want to come after all," Amedeo told him, smirking when Félix cast him yet another incredulous look.

"Why? And why is it so loud?"

He had to cover his ears against the noise to stand a chance to actually hear Guillaume. "Because your Red Lions are currently leading Serbia three-nil," he said, then had to repeat it in a louder voice when Guillaume didn't understand.

There was stunned silence at the other end of the line for long moments, then, "Seriously?"

"Seriously. No, wait..." The roar of the audience - more than respectable despite its limited numbers - turned deafening. "That was the fourth," Amedeo practically had to shout, stumbling when Félix caught him in an exuberant hug. "You’d best come, you'll be needed for the celebrations."

An hour later, after they'd congratulated the team and Guillaume had caught up with them, delirious enough at the unexpected turn of events that he forgot his restraint about public displays of affection enough for a tight embrace (though, unfortunately, not quite enough for a kiss), Félix was still staring at Amedeo with a mixture of awe and disbelief.

"Tell me you didn't know this," he demanded.

Amedeo quirked an eyebrow. "I told you. Positive thinking."

***

Compiling the guest list for the wedding was a fairly straightforward affair. Personal friends and relatives they actually liked went on the list first, then the relatives who had to be invited in order to avoid family feuds (which, when you were descended from houses who'd waged war on each other over such matters, was an important consideration). All reigning monarchs, since Guillaume was heir to the Luxembourgian throne and because the whole affair involved two currently ruling families. Representatives from projects and charities, governments and organisations, a whole score of ambassadors... the list went on and on, and Amedeo soon thoroughly despised the tradition which held that invitations should be signed personally. By the time they were halfway through, he no longer recognised his own signature and his hand was aching with cramps.

Most of the invitations went out by mail, but he took along those for his immediate family on his next trip to Belgium to deliver them in person.

"I'm proud of you, my dear boy," his grandfather told him when Amedeo handed over the envelope. "Making the best of the shortage of reigning girls. It's such a pity we couldn't interest Victoria in you, she would have been a grand match."

Amedeo wondered whether he ought to point out that she was nine years older than him, but decided not to argue with mere wishful thinking. "Since I prefer Guillaume over her, it's probably for the best," he simply said.

His grandfather patted his shoulder consolingly. "Luxembourg isn't so bad either, and if it's the only way for you to rule a country... we've got to go with the times."

On the way out his grandmother, who'd observed in silence, caught up with him. "So you're going through with it," she said as she walked at his side along the hallway back to the public section of the palace.

Amedeo looked her in the eye. "Yes," he told her, with all the conviction he could muster. "Of course I'm going through with it. I was the one who proposed, I'm not going to call it off when I got him to say yes."

"Santo cielo..." She heaved a deep sigh. "Will you have a church blessing, at least?"

"We would if they'd let us." One of the problems with both of them being Catholic; the Lutheran churches were a lot more relaxed about the issue, and it even looked as though the Church of England might eventually come around to the idea of having Wills as their head one day. But the Catholics... that was a much trickier battleground.

His grandmother sighed once more. "We will have to do something about that," she decided. "If you must continue on this path, you'll at least do it properly."

Amedeo blinked at that statement. He'd never managed to find out exactly where she stood on the issue, aside from knowing that she wasn't in favour. Resignation was more than he'd dared hope for. "Find us a priest who'll perform a blessing and we'll gladly accept it," he told her. "It's really not that we don't want to, it's that they won't permit it."

She rolled her eyes. "That attitude made the English form their own church," she muttered. "I'm not happy with you, Amedeo, not happy at all, but if this is how it is going to be..."

There was nothing he could say in reply that would not get him into an argument with her, and he was just so tired of having to defend his choices. Sometimes he wondered if this wouldn't all have been a lot easier if he hadn't played the obedient son and grandson for all this time and simply been open about his relationships so they could have gotten over it years ago. But that was water under the bridge, and if he was honest with himself, before Guillaume it had never mattered enough to voluntarily face the backlash he'd always known would be the result.

Delivering the invitation to Laurent was soothingly anti-climatic - his uncle merely thanked him, asked whether they should bring the children or leave them at home, and generally didn't appear to care nearly as much about the fact that Amedeo was about to get married to Guillaume, and a lot more about now coming a distant second to his nephew where royal eccentricities were concerned. It wasn't quite what Amedeo had hoped for, but right now he'd take what he could get.

Philippe's invitation was a mere formality, and none of his adult siblings currently were in Brussels so theirs had to go into the mail. That left him with just one more to deliver, the trickiest of them all, and he wished he hadn't left it for last.

He'd gone through official channels this time and asked his mother's assistant to arrange for a time to meet. The necessity didn't sit well with him at all, but this way he could at least be sure he wouldn't be refused and that she would actually be at home. She might be speaking to him again, but it had been impossible not to notice that on the days he was expected in Brussels, she tended to have appointments elsewhere.

They had very polite small talk over a cup of coffee, and despite the tense atmosphere Amedeo tried to savour every minute. He hadn't been particularly close to his mother for years now, simply due to the physical distance between them, but he missed speaking to her. Their weekly phone calls had been a fixture, a small but significant part of what kept him balanced by allowing him to discuss what was going on in his life. During the past months he'd found alternatives out of sheer necessity - Guillaume played a large role, but also their newly established contacts to the other young royals were growing more important, along with his improved rapport with Philippe. Nonetheless he wished he could have those talks back and speak to her of more than duties and official tasks.

"Philippe has asked me to attend the opening day of the greenhouses this year," he said, running out of topics by now and growing weary from the strain of having to hold up his side of the conversation with only brief answers from his mother.

"It's for him to decide," she said, delicately raising the bone china cup to her lips. "Since he is the official host and we are just guests."

Amedeo fought down a sigh. _Yes_ , he wanted to say, _we are guests and it's up to Philippe, but that doesn't mean I don't want to know whether you can accept it if I am there._ The situation between them had improved since Christmas, but it still felt more like a shaky armistice than anything else.

"I'm looking forward to it," he tried.

She sipped at her coffee, then set the cup down on the saucer again. "It's always a pleasant event."

Half an hour of this now, with each drawn-out answer grating on him more and more. If he'd been after penitence and punishment for his alleged sins, that would have been one thing, but all he'd wanted was some time with her. But not like this, not when the strain tarnished everything.

He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and took out the last of his cream-coloured envelopes. Laying it down on the table, he slowly pushed it towards her. "Our wedding invitation," he said quietly. "For you and Papa." He didn't mention that he'd already called his father, just in case the written invitation wasn't passed on.

She glanced down at the envelope but didn't reach out to pick it up.

"I truly hope that you will come," he told her, holding her gaze and willing her to _see_ that this meant everything to him.

They sat like that for a minute in an unmoving tableau, looking at each other. Then she sighed. "I wish you would see reason," she said.

Not again. Please. "Mama..."

"Amedeo, don't you understand that if you continue with this you ruin everything you worked so hard for? You're still a prince, you can turn this around. You know Philippe will gladly let you play a major role at Elisabeth's side if that's what you want, and you can have an impact here in Belgium. You don't need to, to do _this_." She shook her head. "Amedeo, dear, I want the best for you, you know that, and what you are doing now can't be it."

He held still, torn between anger at her presumptions and desperation that he simply couldn't make her understand how mistaken she was about it all.

"It's still possible to end this," she told him and reached out, but he drew back his hand and rested it on his thigh before she could touch him.

"I love him, Mama." He met her eyes again even though it took more than a little willpower not to look away. But he didn't dare back down again. "I don't know how to make you believe it, but I do. He's what matters. Not who he is, or what I'll be."

And why couldn't anyone understand that? With his grandfather it was faintly amusing, and at least it got a laugh out of Guillaume every time it was mentioned. But with his mother? How could she possibly think he was drawn towards living a high-profile royal life when she'd done her best to keep him and his siblings away from the limelight and all its disadvantages and dangers for all their lives? They had the chance to be normal, so rare for anyone born into a royal family, and nobody in their right mind would abandon that unless they could trade it in for something that mattered more.

Amedeo would have given it up if Philippe or his mother had asked, out of respect and the understanding of what it meant to be born to these duties that had been drilled into him while he'd been his uncle's de facto heir. And now he was giving it up for Guillaume. Not because his lover had asked him to - Guillaume would never have done that, Amedeo knew, no matter how hard the secrecy would have gotten - but because it was the one way that offered them their chance at happiness. That there was a throne and a grand ducal crown involved had never been a factor; quite the opposite, Amedeo could well have lived without the complications this was bound to bring in their future.

"Will you come?" he asked, his body almost painfully tense as he leaned forward a little. "Please. It would mean the world to me to have you there."

His mother looked at him. Sighed. Reached for the small silver coffee pot and filled up his cup, then her own. Added sugar to her cup, then milk. Picked up the spoon, stirred, laid it down again, raised the cup to her mouth. Set it back down on the saucer. And didn't say anything.

He closed his eyes and could barely breathe for a moment for fear of losing the last shreds of control. Slowly he placed the napkin on the table and rose from his seat, then pushed the chair back in.

"Please," he said again. "You've always been there when something mattered in my life."

He waited, but when she still didn't say anything he walked out, struggling to keep his steps slow and not making it look like flight.

It wasn't the first time he came away from a meeting with his mother battered and bruised these days, but it wasn't an option to stop trying. What if the next talk were the one when she'd finally see that he wasn't doing this to spite her or to deliberately ruin any plans she'd made for him? That hope kept him going, even though he was slowly but surely running out of time. Only a few more weeks, and he knew he was walking a thin line between persistence and irritation here and might cross it if he tried too hard. But by now he was only too aware that she wouldn't make a move on the issue unless he pushed her to it. Finding the right amount of insistence, and the right way to apply it, however... and he couldn't sit down and objectively analyse this whole matter. This wasn't a client project, this was his life.

The original plan had been to stay in Brussels for the night and deal with the three appearances he'd scheduled for tomorrow on the way back to Luxembourg. It would have saved him an hour or two on travel time in the morning, but it would also have meant a lonely evening and night, something he simply didn't have the energy and peace of mind for right now.

He stopped by Philippe's staff office to let them know that he'd not be staying, then beat a hasty retreat before they could get ideas about helpless princelings being unable to find their own way home and delay him while they scrambled up an escort. The freedom to move without permanent supervision was something he clung to tenaciously; realistically, one or two guards wouldn't change anything if someone was truly determined to get to him anyway.

When he arrived in Colmar a few hours later Guillaume was home already, and Amedeo spared Wills a grateful thought for the lasting miracle he'd managed to perform there as he climbed up the stairs to their rooms. He should have known that he could rely on Guillaume's dedication when it came to keeping his promises in that regard. His lover still pushed himself hard enough to make Amedeo wince just watching him, but he also had discovered that it was possible (and, as he'd admitted one memorable night, even beneficial to his overall performance) to spend a few waking hours each day on having a private life.

Guillaume glanced up from his reading - work-related, but at least he was reading on the sofa and not in his office - when Amedeo came in, blinked in surprise at unexpectedly finding him there, and dropped the folder on the low table by his side.

"Hey," he said quietly, and an instant later was on his feet and had Amedeo caught in a welcoming hug. "What are you doing here? I didn't think you'd be coming home tonight."

Leaning against him, Amedeo bowed his head to claim a chaste kiss. "I missed you," he murmured.

"So this isn't your way of sneakily checking whether I come home before midnight even when you aren't here?" Guillaume tightened his hold, one hand at the small of Amedeo's back, the other between his shoulder blades, always so very steady and solid. "Why didn't you call? Is everything all right?"

Amedeo took a deep breath and reached for a calm he didn't quite feel yet. "Now, yes," he answered, burying his face in Guillaume's hair and focusing on his lover's scent for a moment before regretfully pulling back a little so they could look at each other. "It just hasn't been the greatest day."

Guillaume raised a hand to cup his face, and Amedeo leaned into the touch. "Do you want to talk about it?" he asked, his voice pitched low and soothing.

"We're going to have to, but... not now. It's been enough for today." They'd have to figure out what it meant if Amedeo's mother truly refused to come; he didn't even want to imagine what the public might say to that. But he'd already spent most of the car drive with his mind circling around these issues and he was simply tired of it now.

Guillaume looked as though he were about to argue the point, but then nodded in acceptance. "Anything I can do to make it better?"

A smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, Amedeo turned his head a bit so he could place a kiss against the palm of Guillaume's hand. "Well, since you're asking... I wouldn't mind some distraction, actually. If you can tear yourself away from your files."

The mock scowl he received in response was enough to make him laugh; they'd finally reached a point where Guillaume could be teased over these matters without him turning defensive and, much more importantly, he was actually able to put unfinished work aside for an hour or two to take a break on occasion.

They ended up on the sofa together, mouths locked in a deep kiss, hands roaming freely. Just making out for now, almost too gently for Amedeo's taste; he wasn't entirely certain what he wanted, only that the careful way in which Guillaume was handling him still left him far too much space to think. But when he tried to turn their kiss into a fiercer, harder contact his lover refused to go along with it. Not outright, never that, he just didn't follow Amedeo's lead and kept to his own pace instead.

"Don't be impatient," he whispered, sounding far too amused. "We've got plenty of time, there's no need to rush."

Amedeo frowned at him, eyes narrowed. "What if I _want_ to rush?" he asked, his fingers hooking into the waistband of Guillaume's trousers to leave him with no doubt what he had in mind. He almost missed their early days when they'd been able to compartmentalise the various parts of their lives and draw a clear line between public and private, and when time spent with Guillaume had meant leaving all other concerns behind for a little while.

"I thought you wanted to be distracted?" Guillaume asked and followed the question with a swift peck to Amedeo's mouth that left him growling in frustration.

He shifted impatiently and moved closer, only marginally more satisfied when he managed to bring their hips snugly together. "This isn't distracting, this is teasing."

Guillaume was visibly struggling to suppress a smile at his tone. "Tell me what you want, then," he suggested, one of his hands finally - finally! - working its way underneath Amedeo's still maddeningly buttoned shirt. A firm, warm touch, but still not nearly enough to take him away from the concerns his mind was still circling around.

He turned his head, not certain what he was looking for at first until he spotted his tie that had been unceremoniously tossed to the floor a little earlier. Stretching far enough that he almost toppled off the couch, he fished for the strip of silk, then presented it to Guillaume, his eyes closed in a wordless request which willed him to get the idea.

A moment's hesitation, followed by a careful brush of lips against his forehead. "Are you up to this?"

Amedeo had to smile at the concern in his lover's voice over such a small matter. "I'd tell you if I weren't, don't worry."

It wasn't something they tried very often; eye contact mattered too much to both of them to eliminate that connection most of the time. But under the right circumstances - like when there still were unwelcome thoughts racing through his mind - it was just the right way to bring the here and now into sharp focus and let everything else fade away.

Once they'd relocated to bed, Amedeo held perfectly still while Guillaume wrapped the tie around his head and knotted it, cautious not to catch his hair, and kept his eyes closed against the faint hint of light that shone through the cloth.

A gentle hand on his shoulder pushed him down, then cradled the back of his head to guide him comfortably onto the pillows. He chuckled as he lay back and caught Guillaume's hand to press a quick kiss against his fingers before letting go again.

"I'm not going to break, you know?" he murmured, sighing appreciatively when the first button of his shirt was undone, then another.

He felt the mattress dip by his right side and turned his head in that direction, his eyes still closed. "Maybe not," Guillaume told him, "But that doesn't mean I can't properly appreciate you."

And appreciate him, he did; what had been far too slow and light before for Amedeo's taste now was just this side of overwhelming, with all his remaining senses focused on his lover. He could smell Guillaume's scent, clean and crisp and so familiar, enough in itself to leave him aching for more even as he listened to his lover's steady breaths. A stroke of cool fingers across his chest captured his full attention until the startling heat of a kiss to the dip between his collarbones made him gasp. It was a good thing he didn't have to worry about anyone overhearing when Guillaume soon had him moaning with each little touch, the sensations so much sharper when he couldn't see them coming.

"Still all right?" Guillaume whispered by his ear, and the sheer absurdity of the question snapped him so quickly from groaning to laughing that he needed a minute to catch his breath.

"If you can't tell by now that these aren't exactly sounds of distress I'm making..." he panted and reached out blindly, found Guillaume's shoulder and let his hand slide upwards to the nape of his neck to draw him down into a heartfelt kiss. "All right, love. More than all right."

Guillaume touched his face, just a brush against his cheek at the edge of the blindfold that made him tilt his head to increase the contact. "Just making sure."

Like he always did, not just in bed: always attentive, always careful, and because of that it was so easy to let go, safe in the knowledge that no matter what, Guillaume was there to ascertain that everything was well. Today of all days it was a balm on Amedeo's soul to be able to trust in him without reservations, and he couldn't even begin to say how much it meant to him.

Of course all the attention and dedication also meant that Guillaume knew far too well how to render him incapable of doing anything but moan and writhe in tense pleasure with just a few well-aimed touches. The teasing fingers on his hip that had him shiver with anticipatory delight, the heat of licks and kisses along his collarbone, the firm thigh pushing in between his legs with definite intent, each in itself a heady sensation already and simply dizzying in combination. Anyone who looked at Guillaume and just saw the polite, quiet surface had no idea what they were talking about; not that Amedeo had any interest whatsoever in letting them get into a position to share his own intimate observations.

The blindfold slipped off amidst all the tossing and turning of his head but he barely noticed, focused as he was on Guillaume, above and around and inside; he kept his eyes shut, sight superfluous as they looked for their rhythm together and at least for a little while, nothing else mattered.

Wrapped in Guillaume's embrace afterwards, he barely remembered to set the alarm for next morning before snuggling close again, his heart considerably lighter.

"Better?" Guillaume whispered into the darkness.

Smiling, Amedeo touched their noses together before finding his mouth for a gentle kiss. "Much better." Reaching for Guillaume's hand, he entwined their fingers, unwilling to lose the contact. "Even if I hadn't loved you before..."

A quiet chuckle sounded in response. "I should have known you only wanted me for one reason," Guillaume told him.

Amedeo smirked lazily, part satisfaction and part genuine exhaustion. "Well, the spectacular sex doesn't hurt," he teased. "But you have other redeeming qualities as well."

"Good to know." Guillaume tucked him close, one arm across his midriff to keep him in place. "Love you, too. And now sleep, or we'll end up awake for the sunrise."

***

"Your uncle really must be determined to get his money's worth out of you," Madeleine remarked when Amedeo offered her his arm after they got out of the car. "Ten days to your wedding and he drags you along for a state visit? I thought I'd heard wrong."

Amedeo shrugged, blinking when she seized his lower arm in a firm grip rather than the loose hold he was used to from his other times as an official royal escort. “It's not like he ordered me to come along," he said, matching his pace to hers for the first steps to figure out how fast she wanted to walk the short distance across the courtyard.

"So why are you here?" she asked, her eyes laughing as she looked up to him. "Is Guillaume driving you crazy with nerves already?"

Guillaume was, in fact, fussing enough in his own quiet and understated way that Amedeo had been getting a case of second-hand anxiety on top of his own nervousness, but he was far too loyal to ever say that out loud. "Don't tell me you've been a picture of calm before your wedding," he told her. "I've been there, and I distinctly remember Carl chasing after you to accompany you on all those walks the night before, just in case you decided to run off."

Madeleine waved her hand dismissively. "I was just breaking in my shoes," she said. "If you were looking at a long day in a pair of new high heels, you'd do the same."

"Not something I've ever concerned myself about, admittedly."

She swatted his arm when she spotted his grin. "As if you need to be any taller. It's a good thing Guillaume got at least some of Henri's height and didn't take completely after María Teresa, or you two would be in trouble."

Amedeo winked at her. "Height differences don't matter once you're lying down. Just ask your brother, we're no worse than him and Wills in that regard."

He had the satisfaction of seeing Madeleine open her mouth and close it again, briefly at a loss for words, but before he could tease her about it they turned the corner onto the brief public stretch of the walk they had to cover. They stopped at the foot of the stairs to let the photographers have a good look at them, smiling for the cameras. The flurry of camera flashes made him wonder about tomorrow's headlines; even with Madeleine happily married and him soon about to be, he was willing to bet that at least one paper wouldn't be able to resist the temptation to come up with some juicy rumours.

Madeleine's thoughts seemed to run in the same direction. "Do you think they'll claim we're having an affair?" she murmured in-between smiles.

He laughed, then deliberately gave a flourishing salute to the cameras before offering her his arm again. "Who knows? But since Guillaume's already fathered your little boy, we might as well confess to our happy ménage à trois."

She glanced at him from under delicately arched eyebrows. "It's a good thing Carl asked me to be nice to you," she said.

"I'll have to thank him." He waited for her to gather up her dress in her free hand, then slowly walked her up the wide stairs, ready to move in case she should stumble. One of those days he'd figure out why the women always insisted on these floor-length robes which turned every step into a challenge. "Did you know they actually warned me about you?"

"They?" she asked, her grip on his lower arm tightening again as if she expected him to make a run for it at any moment.

He flashed her a smile. "As if I'd betray these kind souls and expose them to your wrath."

She smiled sweetly back. "You realise that you are stuck with me for the next two days, don't you?"

"Oh no..." He pretended to swoon in dismay. "But even with such cruel fate awaiting me, I shall never mention that Harry and Andrea were the ones to advise caution."

Madeleine looked surprised. "Harry? Andrea is a given, he's enjoying it far too much to pretend to be scared of any and all assertive women. Makes you wonder how he deals with Tatiana, really. But Harry? What did I ever do to him?"

They paused on the middle landing to maintain the right distance to Mathilde and Prince Daniel, who walked in front of them. It was supposed to be a formal dinner, but by now Amedeo had the sneaking suspicion that what passed for formal in Sweden was informal in Belgium, and probably downright casual in Britain. There was a distinct lack of political dignitaries, for one thing; the guest list was restricted to just the King and Queen of Sweden, the two crown princely couples, and finally Amedeo and Madeleine, the latter probably as a last-minute recruit so he wouldn't have to spend the evening hanging on to Mathilde's skirt tails.

"He mentioned something about waking up with a Swedish flag drawn on his forehead with permanent marker," Amedeo said when they started moving again.

It drew an un-ladylike snort from Madeleine. "Ah, yes," she giggled. "That. Well, he _was_ drunk out of his mind at the time and sleeping like a log. And it was Vicky's idea, not mine."

"I'll have to stick to juice for dinner if you two usually go around marking Swedish territory on unsuspecting drunk people."

Madeleine shrugged. "Only on those who just kissed our brother."

Amedeo missed the top step of the stairs and would have ended up in an undignified sprawl if it hadn't been for Madeleine's iron grip on his arm. "Excuse me?"

"As I said, he was completely rat-arsed at the time, and he's always been fond of Carl, so he decided to... demonstrate his affections, as it were." She grinned. "I don't think I've ever seen Calle nearly that flabbergasted before."

He shook his head in disbelief. "And here I thought he and Andrea were just joking about it." It did explain a few things he'd overheard in Monaco, though, even if he'd thought it fiction or, at best, exaggeration at the time.

"No, it was for real, tongue and all. Ask Alex about it, she's got the pictures to prove it."

It was a good thing, Amedeo reflected as they took their seats around the oval dining table, that Guillaume wasn't present to hear this. He'd just start acting jumpy around Harry, and that when he'd finally begun to remain reasonably calm in Andrea's presence. Amedeo had never managed to figure out what exactly had happened between those two to cause all that tension, but they seemed to gradually move beyond it. Or at least Andrea was; Guillaume still tended to be a little cautious, though he'd stopped actively avoiding all things Monegasque in general and Casiraghi in particular these days.

They spent the first course with small talk together with Victoria, seated at his other side. A casual dinner indeed, more a family affair than an act of state, though at least Philippe and King Carl Gustaf appeared to be discussing official matters.

"Did you forget you're getting married next week?" Victoria wanted to know when the table was cleared for the first time.

"I asked him already, but he hasn't said why he's here instead of panicking over last minute preparations," Madeleine commented from his other side, leaning in a little so the three of them could talk.

Surrounded and cornered by two Swedish princesses. Amedeo's instincts screamed at him to flee.

"It's nothing sinister," he explained, somewhat uneasy under their scrutiny. "Philippe suggested it would be a good idea to remind everyone that I'm part of the Belgian Royal Family and that they aren't hiding me in the dungeons for choosing Guillaume."

Victoria nodded in approval. "Smart move," she said. "It certainly can't hurt, though we'd better make sure nobody gets any odd ideas about you and Madde. You two looked awfully cosy on the steps."

Madeleine patted his hand. "What can I say? He's cute. In the puppy sense of the word, maybe we should keep him."

Amedeo blinked at that but wisely kept his mouth shut. Andrea and Harry, he decided, had been absolutely right in their assessment of these two. Madeleine might be someone who shouldn't be underestimated already, but she was just the _younger_ sister; one mustn't forget about Victoria either.

Who was just reaching out and tousling his hair in a friendly manner. "He is," she agreed, treating him to one of her manic grins, "But I think Guillaume is going to protest if we snatch him away. I hope he appreciates you properly, you're a good influence on him. He's been a lot more relaxed since he's got you."

"Or a lot more exhausted," Madeleine added with a suggestively arched eyebrow. "Did I tell you I met them in New York two years or so ago? I could barely believe my eyes. Guillaume on holiday, in jeans!"

Victoria gave him one more encouraging pat and removed her hand. "Well done. Seems like there's hope for him yet."

"There'd better be," he ventured.

"Someone had to get through to him eventually, and you're in the best position to present a convincing argument," Madeleine said serenely. "Though judging by the love bite he sported when I saw him a few weeks ago, you've figured that out already."

Amedeo decided her husband was a brave man indeed, and probably also immune to public embarrassment by now. He could feel his cheeks growing hot.

Victoria took one look at him, laughed, then mercifully changed the topic to less personal matters before he succumbed to the urge to call to Philippe for help. They meant well, he knew, but these days he was too tense to really be on top of his game and hold his ground when it came to jokes and teasing. He'd breathe a lot more freely again once he and Guillaume safely got through their wedding together.

"The internet decided that you and Madeleine would have made a nice couple," Guillaume told him later that night when Amedeo called him once the evening's events were over and done with. "They think you're a better match for her than I was, apparently."

"Is that so?" Amedeo asked as he put his suit jacket back on the clothes hanger one-handedly. "Well, what can I say, after you left her behind pregnant, someone had to step up and take responsibility."

He heard Guillaume laugh. "If anyone were to listen in on us..."

"I'm a Habsburg, I've got an excuse." He got rid of the tie and began to unbutton his shirt, always a fiddly task with only one hand. "And with you we can always claim it's a cunning plot to give you an heir."

"And let Félix off the hook? No, better let him take care of it, we're controversial enough as it is."

"Unfortunately, yes," Amedeo agreed, rummaging through his suitcase for something to wear to bed. Sweden was chillier than he'd expected, especially without Guillaume to curl up against for warmth. "I had to defend your honour tonight, by the way."

"How so?"

"Remember Madeleine took you shopping when you got stuck in Stockholm, two years or so ago? She's admitted it was a nefarious plot to see what you look like in casual clothes." He took out a fresh t-shirt and shorts, and figured that would have to do. "Not that I can blame her for liking the sight of your backside in jeans, but she'd better remember that I'm the only one allowed to do more than appreciate the view from afar."

There was a brief silence on the other end of the line, then, "Is _that_ why you wanted me to keep them?"

Amedeo grinned as he shrugged into the shorts, then juggled the phone for a second while he slipped into the shirt as well. "Don't tell me it took you this long to figure that out."

He could practically hear Guillaume blink in confusion. "It... hadn't occurred to me."

"Fishing for compliments again?" he teased gently as he pulled back the sheets and got into bed, sparing an amused thought to how used he was to having Guillaume by his side when it came to sleeping now, when it had still been a rare treat just six months ago. "Wear them when you come to collect me at the airport the day after tomorrow and I'll compliment you all you want."

Guillaume sighed. "About that..."

After four years of juggling schedules and shuffling appointments, Amedeo knew that particular tone of voice. "Don't tell me," he said resignedly. "Substituting for your father?"

"No, Council of State meeting."

Amedeo frowned at the unexpected answer. "What about?" he asked. The only pressing political matter in Luxembourg these days, if it could be called such, was their wedding and he hoped nobody still saw any need to debate the issue.

"Honestly? There's nothing on the agenda, so I suspect they've decided to hold some sort of congratulatory meeting." Guillaume sounded as frustrated by the idea as Amedeo felt about it. "They mean well, but..."

"The timing could be better?" Amedeo finished for him. "Never mind, it's not like you can do anything about it." These sorts of interruptions were only going to increase in the future, he knew, with every additional engagement and duty they both took on. Better get used to it now and adopt a pragmatic attitude about it rather than allow it to bother them too much. "I'll just make my own way back in that case and meet you at home."

"I'll be there," Guillaume promised.

He smirked, and knew it could he beard in his voice. "You'd better be, love. I promise I'll make it worth your while."

***

As royal weddings went, Amedeo had never wished for one to be over and done with as much as he did now that the wedding in question was his own.

It wasn't that he hadn't looked forward to this for close to four years now, ever since they'd first talked about the possibility, or that he wasn't enjoying every minute of it. But there was no denying that, on the whole, it was an absolutely nerve-wrecking affair. It was one thing to talk about marriage, or indeed even plan and prepare for it, and quite another to actually go through with it when the day finally came.

"It's a bit late to change your mind now, just so you know," Philippe remarked as he passed him the black jacket of his gala uniform.

Amedeo spared him an exasperated glance and shrugged into the offered garment, missed one sleeve and had to try a second time. "I'm not changing my mind. But the idea of running off to Denmark and getting it over with in five minutes without all this fuss has a certain appeal."

His uncle just laughed and helped him to properly adjust the jacket. Uniforms, Amedeo had long decided, were only designed to be simple on the surface. They might spare you the effort of colour-coordination when picking your clothes, even down to the pre-determined socks and underwear, but they were fiendishly intricate when it came to the details.

"Keep reminding yourself that you've got holidays coming, with plenty of peace and quiet. That got Mathilde and me through our wedding day."

"Aren't you supposed to tell me that this is the best day of my life and that I should enjoy it?"

"Why? You know that by yourself. And it is going to be a great day in hindsight, once you forget how tense and stressful it all was and how hard it was to remember when to say what."

Amedeo shot him a dark look. "You're not helping."

"You'll be fine." Philippe patted his shoulder and reached out to untangle the decorative snaffles on the jacket. "Just say yes whenever anyone asks you something."

"That much I managed to figure out by myself, thanks." He sat down, cautious not to wrinkle his trousers, which had been ironed within an inch of their life, and fiddled with the tassels of his ceremonial saber until a knock at the door made him look up.

Philippe went to answer it and a moment later Guillaume's sister slipped into the room, already decked out in her gown for the day, a ruffled affair in light green with a wide skirt that made Amedeo spare a thought of thanks that he didn't have to do the escorting and spend all day avoiding stepping on her hem. Then he remembered that there was going to be dancing and that he was hardly going to escape his new sister-in-law at that occasion.

"My, look at you," Alexandra said, giving him an appreciative once-over. "That uniform almost makes up for your refusal to wear a dress."

He smirked at her, grateful for the brief distraction. "If you'd organised one that fit, I'd have worn it, but as it is..."

"A shame, you'd have looked great in white." She crossed the room in a few quick steps to give him a hug and a quick, friendly peck on the cheek. "Ah well, I guess the uniform will just have to do. But, no order? I thought Paps awarded you one?"

Amedeo shrugged and then had to scramble for his sword when it slipped from his grip. "Later. I don't want the sash to wrinkle and it's so damnably hard to sit while wearing those things."

She frowned. "Just don't forget it," she told him firmly.

"Hand on heart," he promised, and out of the corner of his eye saw Philippe unearth the small case that held the badge, star and sash of the Order of the Gold Lion he'd been awarded a few days ago. Amedeo wasn't entirely certain that marrying Guillaume qualified as services of particular merit to Luxembourg, but he figured there was no point in arguing with these matters. His grandfather had been delighted to finally see him properly decorated, even though it wasn't a Belgian order (which were somewhat harder to arrange). Amedeo, rather pragmatically, thought that the Luxembourgian orange and blue sash matched his uniform marginally better than the Belgian purple.

Another appraising look, then Alexandra nodded decisively and appeared to be satisfied with what she saw. "Félix sent me over," she said. "He just heard from Paps that your mother is on the way, and he figured you'd want to know."

Amedeo froze for a moment, then drew a sharp breath. "You're certain?"

"It was Uncle Albert who called, so I'd say it's safe to believe."

He glanced at Philippe and saw his uncle nod in confirmation. "Papa did say he was going to talk to her, and she usually listens to him."

His mother, here, today. Amedeo hadn't dared ask again whether she'd come for fear of a negative answer, and instead had clung to the faint hope that she'd not take her disapproval that far. To have the confirmation that she was actually going to be there for what was arguably the most important moment of his life lifted a huge weight from his heart. Without her, the day simply would not have been the same and the worry had preoccupied him for months now.

He wished there were a chance to speak to her before the ceremony, just to tell her how much it meant that she was there, but he knew there wasn't a large enough gap anywhere. It would have to wait until afterwards, but then there had to be a quiet opportunity somewhere so he could see her. This was the happiest day in his life, he wanted, _needed_ to share it with her, and that she was actually going to be here for him despite everything... Bowing his head, Amedeo had to blink a few times to regain his composure.

"I'll go back and see how Guillaume is doing," Alexandra said as she headed for the door. "Anything you want me to tell him?"

Focusing on the here and now again, Amedeo thought for a moment, then shook his head. "Not really, no, just see if you can distract him a little? You know he's bound to be on an overthinking binge again. Everything important, I'll tell him myself later."

From then on it all seemed to go according to plan, as if a knot had eased somewhere and everything could now run smoothly. Philippe helped him finish with his sash and badge, reminded him of his hat (though Amedeo had secretly intended to accidentally forget about it since he'd always hated that particular component of his uniform - no man in this day and age should be forced to wear a plume) and off they went to meet the rest of the wedding party.

There wasn't really any pre-approved protocol for all of this, so they'd had plenty of room to maneuver. Wills and Carl might have set a precedent, but that was a British precedent and best ignored by all sensible people. Some sort of ceremony had to happen, if only so the television channels would have something to show to their viewers, but Guillaume and Amedeo had been in accord with each other from the beginning to keep it small and understated. It was strange enough to know that a few hundred thousand people were watching a live broadcast of their promises to each other; the last thing they needed was some sort of elaborate fuss surrounding it all.

"Hey," he whispered when they met up in the city hall's central foyer so they could walk up the steps to the main reception hall together, and saw his own smile mirrored on Guillaume's face. "This is it?"

Guillaume nodded, looking as nervous as Amedeo felt. "This is it," he confirmed.

Amedeo glanced at Félix and Philippe behind them, then leaned in for a quick, reassuring kiss. Guillaume's hand came up to rest on his upper arm for a moment, a much-needed point of contact between them.

"I love you," he told him quietly, and received another kiss in response.

Behind them, Félix cleared his throat. "You know, you are supposed to do this _after_ the ceremony, so stop it already and get on with it."

They both turned to glare at Félix, who just grinned at them. "Very romantic," Guillaume muttered, but he did take a half step back. Amedeo, frowning, reached for his hand instead and grasped it in a firm grip just in case Guillaume got any misplaced ideas about appropriateness at this point in time.

In a way it was good there was a camera crew present at the ceremony because Amedeo didn't remember much of it afterwards, his mind abuzz with excitement and nerves. He spotted his mother on the way in, surrounded by his siblings, and was glad that he'd known in advance that she'd be there. Even now the sight of her made his heart skip a beat despite her carefully blank expression that spoke volumes as to all that was not yet well. But she was here, she was showing her support for him, for them, and right now that was what counted.

He tried to follow the ceremony, but with his attention almost completely on Guillaume it still took him by surprise when it was their turn to exchange vows and sign the official documents to seal their marriage. He glanced it over out of sheer habit until, after a few seconds he heard Philippe hiss, "Sign it already, I promise it's all in order and there's no small print," loud enough to startle laughs out of the nearest guests.

Their signatures in place and the documents safely with Philippe and Félix as their witnesses, they were rewarded with a round of applause, and for the next twenty minutes Amedeo was so occupied with congratulatory handshakes, kisses and supporting pats on the back that even with Guillaume right by his side, he had no chance to exchange even a word with him.

Their first public appearance as an officially sanctioned couple came next - fortunately without a kiss on the stairs, because while Amedeo was fairly sure he could get Guillaume to walk hand in hand with him, he didn't think more would be possible without major bribery or threats in advance. They might have written permission now and Amedeo was determined to get Guillaume there eventually, but he also knew that it wasn't something that would change from one day to the other. They'd shared a kiss for the cameras earlier, but that was different from doing so in front of what looked like the entire population of Luxembourg outside (not a huge crowd - it was still _Luxembourg_ \- but sizable nonetheless).

He could practically feel Guillaume's mind switch into overdrive as they went on the short walk across the square to the Grand Ducal Palace for the celebratory part of the day. Whatever he was thinking about, Amedeo saw his smile turn from genuinely happy into professionally happy, always a sign something was worrying him.

"You're allowed to enjoy this," he whispered, though he wasn't sure Guillaume could hear him over the noise of the crowd around them, and tightened his hold on his lover's - his _husband's_ , he corrected himself - hand as they walked together, smiling and waving. Guillaume squeezed back and quickly glanced at him, and Amedeo willed him to relax and enjoy the moment. This was what they'd worked for, this was what all the stress and effort had been about, and they deserved every moment of it.

Guillaume eased up a little but still looked too stuck in polite Hereditary Grand Ducal mode for comfort. They had to handle this with caution, Amedeo knew, and balance their appearance today between formal representation and personal happiness; the mere idea that something like that had to be a consideration on a day like today rankled, but there wasn't anything that could be done about it. Part of their life together would always be in the eye of the public, and they'd have to figure out the boundaries for that.

So before Guillaume could go and get any ideas about what their behaviour towards each other in public should be like, Amedeo leaned down and kissed the corner of his mouth, just a brush of lips that wouldn't warrant any particular reaction under other circumstances. Right now, though, it made Guillaume stumble and almost miss a step.

Smiling innocently, Amedeo kissed him again, on the temple this time, and kept a tight grip on his arm so the day didn't end with the freshly married Hereditary Grand Duke sprawled on the cobblestones in front of his adoring subjects.

They made it safely into the palace and through the last formalities of the day. Speeches from their fathers, the witnesses, and of course the two of them also got to say a few words to satisfy protocol and let everyone have a few more photo opportunities.

Amedeo had never seen a more camera-obsessed group of people than the assembled high nobility of Europe, where the Queens of Denmark and Sweden vied for the best viewpoint while Princess Máxima helped out her mother-in-law with the flash settings. There was no point in reminding them of all the official photos which would be released in the coming days - royal snapshots obviously were far too much fun, and they also presented a source of endless embarrassment, because while the press was banned from all the later parties, nobody could stop the guests. All one could do was hope that everybody had learned from the incident surrounding the lost cell phone of the Danish Crown Princess and how it was important to hang on to your camera if you didn't want pictures of your drunken husband snuggling up to a stone-faced Queen of Spain leaked to the press.

With the first few bars of the opening dance the formal part was well and truly over, and Amedeo breathed a deep sigh of relief. No more requirements beyond a number of female friends and relatives who wanted to have a few minutes with them on the dance floor, no more need to pay attention to every word and gesture. This was their party now, and he was determined to enjoy it even when Guillaume was just getting dragged off by his sister and almost disappeared behind her voluminous dress. Amedeo had barely spared him a sympathetic thought when he was grabbed by his own sister for the same fate.

"I still don't see why you two couldn't dance together for the first waltz," Maria Laura remarked, her voice pitched low.

"Because we couldn't decide who'd get to lead in that case." Amedeo twirled her around, watching from the corner of his eye as a few other couples began to join in as well.

His sister laughed, her hand momentarily tightening on his right shoulder. "As if Guillaume would have stood a chance. I know you, remember?"

"I do let him get his way occasionally," he protested.

"Emphasis on occasionally? Well, he did know in advance what he was getting into, he had plenty of time to run." She used the next turn to rise on tiptoe and place a quick kiss on his cheek. "Congratulations, Amedeo. You two really look happy together."

He smiled at her. "We are," he said quietly.

She looked at him, then nodded decisively. "Good. Stay that way."

Once the first dance was over she handed him on to Alexandra for a quick swap of partners, and he managed to grab hold of Guillaume and kiss him for three whole seconds before their sisters dragged them off again. It set the tone for the next half hour; he'd spot Guillaume somewhere, carefully maneuver towards him on the by now well-filled dance floor, but by the time he got anywhere close, his husband was whisked away again into a remote corner. Weddings, Amedeo eventually figured, were not designed to have a lot of chances for private moments among the new couple.

"You've practised, haven't you?" his grandmother asked when she claimed him from Mathilde and moved through the first steps of the Foxtrot she'd chosen. "This time last year, you weren't this good."

"Not good enough for today," he agreed and more or less easily went along as she weaved in a series of feather steps. Ballroom dancing was another of those skills begun when he'd still been heir-in-training and later abandoned; it held no practical purpose for anyone living a normal life who wasn't actively interested in it, but when you moved in the royal scene with any regularity you'd better know what to do with your feet.

His grandmother kept him for two dances - much to the irritation of Queen Margrethe, who'd been hovering like a bird of prey just waiting for her chance to strike and grab him - then slowly led him towards the side of the dance floor.

"You'd best go and talk to your mother," she told him, reaching up to cup his cheek in her hand for a moment. "She's not having an easy time of it."

Amedeo looked her in the eye. "It's not like I haven't tried."

"Try again. She has promised she will listen."

And hopefully understand, Amedeo thought as he let his grandmother deposit him by his mother's side as the music wound to a brief close. He saw María Teresa head for him, then stop in her tracks when she noticed what was going on and instead turn to let her husband take her hand for a spin.

"So you got your way after all," his mother said after an endless instant of silence, looking at the couples spinning and twirling on the dance floor.

He sighed inwardly and tried to hold on to his earlier delight about knowing that she was here at all. "It's what we've wanted for four years," he said. "We've worked hard to get here today, you know that. It's hardly a decision we made on the spur of the moment." He glanced at her. "Or to spite anyone."

Behind her he saw his father and Philippe step together, effectively shielding them from any uninvited listeners. A family effort he probably should be grateful for, but right now he could have wished for their attention to be on convincing his mother rather than keeping this from spreading. As if nobody had noticed that she'd looked less than thrilled so far.

"Ah, Amedeo... I wish you hadn't done this."

Something snapped inside him. "Why not?" he demanded, unable to hold on to his patience and restraint any longer. "Why shouldn't I have done this? Because it doesn't fit into some grand scheme? Because it hasn't been done before? Because you don't like the idea?"

She finally turned towards him. "Because it's going to ruin your life. But it's too late now."

He could only shake his head. "Ruin... Mama, aside from this moment right now, this is the happiest day in my life! Why can't you see that? What's it going to take to make you accept this?"

Impatience flashed in her eyes. "Don't you want a wife? Children? How is that going to work, did you think about that?"

"Don't tell me you're concerned about the succession. So we won't have children, do you think that's going to come as a surprise?" He laughed humourlessly. "Trust me, we've figured out that much by now. But there are going to be nieces and nephews, and that's plenty of family right there because our siblings aren't pushing us away just because we fell in love with someone inconvenient."

"Amedeo, that's not-"

"True?" he interrupted her. "What else have the past months been about, then? You tried to make me change my mind by forcing me to choose between Guillaume and family, you can't deny that."

And if it hadn't been for his siblings' readiness to ignore their mother's orders where contact to him was concerned, and for Philippe's willingness to ride interference, Amedeo didn't know how this would have ended. He had no doubts that he'd have stayed with Guillaume no matter what, but he didn't even want to imagine what the pressure would have been like if she'd gotten her way. Enough to bring him to heel? No, but enough to make him suffer for his decisions.

"I didn't want you to make a mistake." She looked at him, and he knew that she meant it, but she just didn't _see_ what was right in front of her. "It's been so quick, you didn't think this through. Amedeo, dear... you know it's not too late now, don't you?"

He could only shake his head. "Not too late for what? A divorce? Do I need to remind you that this is our wedding? Believe it or not, but I love him and I know he loves me. Why would I give that up, because he's a man? As far as I'm concerned, that's all for the best, I don't know that I'd have much use for a wife."

Which wasn't strictly true - though at least Guillaume seemed over it by now - but his mother was better when it came to deal with definite facts, not ambiguity.

"Amedeo, if you'd just given it a chance..."

He raised an eyebrow. "It's not like I didn't," he said, and had the brief satisfaction of seeing her momentarily speechless. "I just never had the impression that you wanted to hear about my girlfriends. Or boyfriends, for that matter. But it's a moot point now anyway, since I'm happy with Guillaume and I intend to keep it that way. In bed and out," he couldn't resist adding.

Discussing his sex life with his mother. At his wedding. Great, exactly how he'd always imagined this day in his life would go.

"Amedeo!" That sounded a little more scandalised than he'd expected, but then again, he _had_ been thorough about keeping the more intimate parts of his life shielded from maternal attention. "You must- "

"No," he interrupted her, struggling for calm. "Mama, think what you want, but I'm not going to listen to this, not today of all days." He looked at her and tried to put all the determination and conviction he felt into his voice. "This is what I want. Guillaume is who I want in my life and I'm lucky to have him."

His mother sighed. "Amedeo..." she said once more, and he thought he heard a shadow of resignation in her voice.

"I don't ask that you're happy about this. I know you aren't, but I am, and I wish you could understand that." He paused, attempted a smile but knew he didn't quite succeed at it. "And I'd like it if you could be happy for _me_." Slowly, he took a step away from her. "If you'll excuse me, I'd like to go find my husband. It's our wedding, after all."

He discovered Guillaume in talk with Wills, Carl and Andrea - a huge relief, since those three were the last to bat an eye if he wanted to snuggle up to his husband for a few reassuring minutes to regain his equilibrium. A quick round of congratulations, then they continued their discussion and pretended not to notice that he wasn't contributing much for the time being. He listened with one ear as they debated the merits of present potential candidates to keep Theodora in line and just let Guillaume's presence by his side calm him down again.

They'd have to sort this out once and for all one of these days, he thought, smiling inwardly when Guillaume's arm tightened around his waist. This was his life, his happiness, and he'd let the trouble with his mother go on for long enough.

"Even if we found someone brave enough, and the right age," Carl was saying, "I'm certainly not going to be the one to walk up to her and tell her that we discovered a man for her. I like my head where it is."

Laughing, Wills leaned in to kiss his temple. "As do I. We'll let Harry deal with that particular part of the plan."

Carl contemplated the idea, then nodded. "I can live with that," he said. "And your brother is a good runner, he's got some chance of escaping mostly intact."

"She's got a soft spot for him anyway," Andrea remarked. "Send him to her with the list of suggestions, she won't harm him. Just remind him he mustn't mention that we're the ones who're so kindly concerned about her."

Amedeo wondered whether someone had spiked the champagne already, because that sort of talk seemed decidedly unsafe under sober circumstances. He'd seen Queen Anne-Marie earlier, occupied with what had sounded like a thorough dressing-down of his namesake, the Duke of Aosta (Amedeo had caught a few snippets on family feuds and behaving like idiots, and figured she still wasn't over ending up in the middle of a Savoy fist fight the last time she'd met the man at a wedding). If that woman couldn't make Theodora settle down, no mere princeling was going to achieve that feat.

"Everything okay?" Wills asked gently when Guillaume was dragged off by Andrea for a private talk - with astonishingly little protest, something Amedeo chose to take as a good sign.

He shrugged and did his best to summon a smile, though it turned shakier than he'd intended. "What can I say... I just outed myself to my mother."

Carl blinked. "She does realise this is the day you're marrying another man, right?"

"I'm not so sure about that." He frowned, shook his head and tried to banish those concerns for now, unwilling to let them ruin the day for him. "Never mind. Oh, hey, thanks for the helmet, by the way. That was fun to explain, apparently it's not every day the office at the Grand Ducal Palace handles racing helmets delivered by express mail."

"Be glad you're just dealing with helmets," William said, and for some reason Carl burst out laughing by his side. "There are much, _much_ worse things that can show up in your daily deliveries."

"Do I want to know?" he asked, accepting a glass of champagne Carl had collected for him from one of the waiters.

Wills looked at him with that perfectly innocent princely expression he had in his repertoire. "They came from Andrea, you figure it out."

Amedeo remembered a conversation a while ago about the complications of sending steel handcuffs through the mail, and smirked. "I think I get the idea, and I get your point about helmets. Much more harmless."

Carl nodded sagely. "Any idea yet when you'll have a gap in your schedule? I can take you along for one of the racing weekends over the summer if you want, there'd be plenty of time for a spin on the track." An aftereffect of Monaco; he'd been curious enough to take Carl up on his offer in the end to let him see for himself that car racing was a lot more fun than Wills pretended it was. Amedeo had agreed to have a look, much to Guillaume's dismay.

"You're on," he said, raising his champagne in a quick toast before taking a sip. "I just need to convince Guillaume that it's perfectly safe."

"As if they'd let me have a hobby with any real danger involved," Carl muttered.

Amedeo grinned. "I tried that very argument, actually. All he said was that if it were safe they wouldn't make you put on fireproof underwear."

"Oh, I don't know if that's a disadvantage, actually," William said loftily.

Carl shot him a lopsided smile. "You like my fireproof underwear?"

"You need to ask?"

The way Carl suddenly had a dreamy look in his eyes spoke volumes. Wills just laughed, shook his head and drew his husband in for a quick kiss before turning back to Amedeo.

"If Guillaume really is worried, tell him to talk to me," he said. "At the very least I can give him a few hints on how to deal with watching you zoom by in a little metal box at a hundred miles an hour."

Amedeo watched them share a quick look, impossible to read, then Carl just shrugged his shoulders. "There's no need to be concerned," he said, and Amedeo suspected it was only partially for his benefit. "Helmets, safety harnesses, proper roll cages, splinter proof windows..."

”Whatever _are_ you boys discussing?" a voice behind Amedeo demanded to know.

Turning around, he was treated to the sight of a lot of very loud pink - Máxima, his mind piped up after a moment of shock at the sheer volume of that dress. By her side, Mette-Marit looked practically demure in one of those flowing Empire-style affairs that seemed to be popular with the women this day.

"Cars?" Carl offered, taking a defensive half-step towards William.

Máxima just snorted in a very un-ladylike fashion. "Why do I bother asking? Don't say you're corrupting Amedeo already, he's such a nice, sensible boy."

Amedeo didn't have to glance at Wills and Carl to know they were looking incredulous at that statement. He wondered whether he ought to protest.

Mette-Marit's expression was a little milder, possibly deceptively so. "I take it we aren't interrupting anything important?"

He shot her a quick smile. "As if anything could be as important as you, my dear Lady," he told her, demurely batting his eyelashes.

It might have been the wrong move, because all it got him was a bit of cooing from the two crown princesses before they grabbed him by the arms and dragged him off towards the dance floor. "If Guillaume comes looking for him, tell him he can have his boy toy back later, once we're done with him," she said over her shoulder to Wills and Carl.

"Boy toy?" he asked in alarm.

Mette-Marit patted his arm consolingly. "Don't worry, she means well."

"And that's why you two are kidnapping me? Do I need to start shouting for help?"

From the side, Frederick of Denmark took one look at him being practically force-marched across the room and winced sympathetically, but didn't make any move to step in and save him from whatever fate these two were planning for him. Amedeo didn't _think_ he was in any trouble, until he remembered the time-honoured traditions of stealing the bride and groom away from the wedding party. And the fact that more than one royal here had arrived by private jet and could probably be talked into a short excursion.

Hopefully Guillaume thought to look for him in places like Northern Norway when he came to the rescue.

Mercifully they stopped on the dance floor, and he decided to wait and see what they were up to rather than stage an escape attempt immediately.

"Mind if I go first?" Máxima asked. "I left Willem with Mary and he wasn't thrilled by the idea, I'll have to get back to him soon."

Mette-Marit waved invitingly. "Go ahead, just don't let him run off afterwards."

Within moments Amedeo was caught in a firm grip and shoved into the first steps of a slow waltz.

"You know, if you two wanted to dance with me, you could just have said so," he pointed out, very reasonably he thought.

Máxima looked at him, plainly amused. "You were far too busy snuggling up to your husband. Not that I can't see the appeal of doing so, but it's only fair that you give some of your attention to us girls as well. It's the nice thing about having two grooms, you know? Twice as many opportunities to dance. And besides, you looked like you could use some cheering up, what with your husband abandoning you to your own devices."

It was a little odd to dance with someone almost as tall as he was; for once he didn't have to keep his steps deliberately short. "You and Mette-Marit as my personal entertainers? I'll be the envy of every man in the room."

"Except for the gay ones."

"I do get to take Guillaume home tonight." He winked. "Plenty of reason to envy me."

She laughed out loud. "Oh, I bet you're going to enjoy yourselves tonight. If you remember to eat something and stop drinking wine and champagne like it's lemonade, that is. Take a bit of advice from me: if you want to actually be conscious for the real fun, stick to water and orange juice from now on."

He could feel his cheeks turn slightly warm. "I'm not going to ask how you know that."

Máxima just winked at him and gave him another of her infectious grins. "You're not the first person to get married who's looking forward to the wedding night."

They finished the dance together - and she made him work for it, somehow she kept slipping into tango moves whenever he wasn't paying close attention, which had him skip and hop to fall back into step with her. Then the music faded for a moment, she gave him a pat on the back, low enough that he was glad for once that Guillaume was nowhere to be seen, and handed him over to her Norwegian counterpart.

"You don't look tired," Mette-Marit remarked as they moved off. "How are you holding up?"

"Aside from aching toes because Laetitia isn't that good at dancing yet? Fairly well. Now I just need to find out whether my husband is actually here somewhere. You wouldn't happen to have seen him?"

It truly amazed him how difficult it was turning out to have some time with Guillaume. He was enjoying his wedding, yes, but he'd much rather enjoy it together with the man he had just married.

"I saw him with his brother a moment ago... there, over by that potted palm." They turned around in the next spin and Amedeo indeed spotted the one person in the room he wanted to be with right now, deep in some sort of discussion with Félix.

Another turn, then they had to make a strategic retreat because Victoria and Carl were sweeping by with little regard for anyone who stood in the way of that voluminous gown. An interesting tactic to refrain from stepping on the hem, Amedeo mused - just keep on turning fast enough that it simply couldn't get in the way. Victoria, though, looked a little flushed by now.

The next glimpse he caught of Guillaume was a bit puzzling; he looked irritated, almost angry, while Félix wore a thoroughly pleased smile. If it hadn't been for that, Amedeo would have joined them to see what was going on, but as it was, it looked more like brotherly teasing than anything else. Perhaps a joke gone a little too far or something along those lines, since Guillaume didn't appear to be amused; Amedeo figured he'd hear about it eventually, whatever it was.

His husband was still locked in a heated debate when the dance finished and Mette-Marit let go of him, so Amedeo looked for alternate entertainment, never hard to come by in a ball room full of royal relatives.

"Found a suitable bachelor yet?" he asked when Theodora fell into step by his side and held out a small plate of bite-sized sandwiches to him.

"Four," she growled. "I'm going to strangle Guillaume and leave you a widower."

"Splendid plan," he agreed and helped himself to one of the little morsels. "Then you marry me and we can finally show our true feelings for each other."

She blinked at him, then shook her head. "I know you hear it often enough, but Andrea definitely has a point about you."

"What point would that be?"

"You're a Habsburg, you're bat-shit crazy."

"Language, my dear," he admonished and stole another sandwich bite.

Theodora just treated him to a quirked eyebrow. "I can tell you off in Greek if it makes you feel better," she said tartly, putting the plate aside when he'd polished off the remaining bits. "Don't they feed you properly?"

"I haven't had time," he muttered. "I was too nervous for more than coffee for breakfast, and we had to miss lunch because of the schedule."

She heaved a deep sigh. "I'll need to have a word with Guillaume it seems," she said. "About the proper care and feeding of his husband."

"He's very conscientious about that," Amedeo assured her.

"Of course he is. It's Guillaume, I don't think he operates any other way." Theodora studied him, her head tilted to the side. "You know, when he told me about you two I wasn't sure what to think. You don't make an obvious couple, you're too different."

He shrugged, not certain what a suitable reply to this would be. She wasn't the first to make this observation, and it puzzled him somewhat that people found it important enough to remark on it. "It would be boring if we were the same. This way makes life more interesting."

"It's certainly dragged Guillaume out of his routines. And your sister claims you're a lot more settled ever since you took up with him."

His sister? He almost asked which one - there were three candidates, after all, though Laetitia was perhaps a bit young yet to be involved in the royal gossip circles; then again, you could never know for sure - but then dismissed the question. It wasn't as though that detail mattered.

"We've known each other for twenty-five years, you can't be surprised that we play well together," he told her. "It's the reason why you never stood a chance to steal him away from me."

Theodora gave him a very convincing pout. "I haven't given up yet," she threatened.

"Was that was the hug earlier was about? An attempt to convince him of your advantages by smothering him in your cleavage?" It would probably be part of their wedding anecdotes for the next decades, the tale of how the younger Princess of Greece and Denmark had almost suffocated the groom.

She cocked her head. "Jealous?"

Amedeo demonstratively let his gaze flicker downwards for a second before firmly meeting her eyes again. "Sorry, my dear, but there are other physical attributes I find more interesting. Not that it isn't a very pleasant sight, of course."

"I've had better compliments," she told him.

"What do you expect, you're talking to someone who just married another man, don't count on me to sing your praises in that area." He gave her an inviting smile. "I wouldn't mind a hug, though, it's not fair that Guillaume gets one and I don't."

"That's because I'm still working on winning him back," she returned, but willingly moved in for a friendly embrace. Across her shoulder, Amedeo spotted the Danish crown princess watching them, a thoroughly confused expression on her face, and couldn't resist the temptation to turn his head and brush a kiss across Theodora's cheek.

"Thanks for keeping an eye on him for me," he whispered in her ear. "And for fending off any and all other women."

He heard a quiet chuckle, then she patted his shoulder. "Anytime. Just remember that you owe me a favour."

His next chance to spend more than five seconds with Guillaume before they both were dragged off again in different directions came with dinner. A much-needed opportunity to sit down together and just breathe while the party went on around them, and they both dropped onto their chairs as soon as they'd dealt with the required toasts.

"What's up with you and Félix?" Amedeo asked, reaching for Guillaume's hand under the table. Then he remembered that he had all sorts of official permissions for this now and leaned over for a quick but thorough kiss. Much to his delight, Guillaume brought up a hand to cradle his face and keep him in place a little longer, an intention he happily went along with. Demonstrations of affection clearly were no problem in front of their two hundred or so closest relatives; Amedeo figured that if he remained persistent, he'd have Guillaume up to truly public kisses by the end of summer. A goal to work towards.

"Félix is..." Guillaume shook his head, made a face, then stole another kiss. "He's being an irritating pain, and he got my parents in on his mad scheme." They were interrupted by one of the waiters serving the first course, and Guillaume fell silent until the man was gone again. "I'll tell you later, I'd rather nobody overheard this," he continued once they had a chance to exchange a few words in private again. "I'm still hoping he'll admit that it's all just a joke."

"It's not that bad, is it?" Félix occasionally overstepped the lines a little, but never dramatically. He'd never done anything to make Amedeo think badly of him and over the span of more than twenty years, that was saying something.

Guillaume sighed. "No, but he really picked the most infuriating way possible to tell me. It's a good thing you knew him before, otherwise I'd worry he'll scare you off even now."

Amedeo could only laugh at the idea. "No chance of that, love. You're mine now, sealed and signed, there's no way I'm giving you up again. Not even because of irritating new brothers-in-law."

Across from them on the other side of the main table, the brother-in-law in question was discussing something with Madeleine that had both of them grinning like mad. Royal gossip, Amedeo figured; you could always rely on Madeleine to know what was going on, and now that Félix had to take a more active role, she was probably one of the best (though also the scariest) to show him the ropes.

He spared the two of them one last glance, then returned his attention to Guillaume. They exchanged looks, and he didn't even try to keep the smile from his face. "We've made it," he whispered.

Guillaume's smile mirrored his own. "We have," he agreed and they leaned together, their foreheads gently touching. "I love you."

Amedeo closed the last bit of distance between them, and they shared a kiss. "Love you too."

***

"Anything specific you want me to pack?" Amedeo asked the next morning as he sat cross-legged on the floor of their bedroom and surveyed the pile of sex toys they'd been gifted with as part of a prank courtesy of their friends and siblings.

Guillaume managed to raise his head from the cushion and blink down at him. "What?"

Grinning, Amedeo scooted over to the edge of the bed. "Poor you," he said, resting his chin on his crossed arms on the mattress so he was on the same level as Guillaume. "See, that's why it's good we're going on holiday, you need to rest and recover."

Guillaume's expression turned from exhausted to vaguely sardonic. "Do I have to remind you that it was you who kept me up almost all night? And woke me again at sunrise? You're coming along for the trip, so I'm not sure how much rest I'm going to get." He sighed and let his head drop again. "Insatiable," he murmured into the pillow.

Amedeo leaned forward and pressed a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth. "As if you don't like it that way," he said cheerfully, ignoring the wordless grumbling. "So, do you want me to pack the whip?"

The grumbles suddenly stopped. "You're not seriously asking, are you?" Guillaume wanted to know, a faint hint of alarm in his voice.

Amedeo shrugged. "Not on my account, no, but if you want to give it a try..." He watched as he was treated to a dark glare. "All right, no point in packing the whip." He pushed away from the bed and returned to the pile on the floor. "How many pairs of handcuffs do you think we need?"

The groan he heard sounded a bit as if it were masking a laugh.

He went through the toys, tossing some into the extra suitcase they'd be taking, the rest into a box to pack into one of the drawers before they left. The maids, thorough as they were, probably were in for a surprise if they used the time he and Guillaume were gone for a complete cleaning of their rooms.

"Hey, Guillaume?" he said after a little while, pointing a riding crop at his husband to gently tickle his nose.

"Mm?"

"You realise we're going to have to write thank you notes for this stuff, right?"

Guillaume heaved a deep sigh, then pushed himself up on his elbows. "No. Really, no. You saw whose signatures were on that poster. I'm not writing a card to Andrea Casiraghi to thank him for giving us an assortment of bondage gear."

Amedeo cocked his head. "I thought you got along better with him now?"

"There are limits. And Andrea aside, do you really want to find out how Carl Philip would react? I've finally got him talking to me again, I'm not going to ruin that. It was hard enough work to get to this point." Guillaume yawned, then rolled over onto his side and patted the blankets next to him. "Come back to bed? Surely you _must_ be tired by now."

Amedeo glanced at the clock, then stashed the last pair of silk scarves in the suitcase and zipped it shut. "Are we still leaving at noon?" he asked, rising to cross the short distance over to his side of their bed.

"I thought so, yes," Guillaume said, raising the edge of the sheets to let Amedeo slip in beside him. "Though I need to talk to Félix first."

"Are you certain you understood him correctly?" Amedeo asked as he scooted close and tried for a kiss, but was gently rebuffed. "It just seems so..."

"Infuriatingly insane?" Guillaume suggested with a deep sigh.

"I was going to say 'sudden', but that works too." Amedeo reached for his hand and brought it to his mouth, brushing his lips against Guillaume's palm. "You think he actually did it?"

His husband - and what a thrill it was to be able to think of him as that - nodded, with plenty of resignation behind the gesture. "No doubt about it. He wouldn't joke about getting married, not after Louis, and not when he knows the impact it is going to have on the succession."

Given that Félix had essentially solved one of their greatest concerns with this impromptu marriage, Guillaume ought to sound more cheerful about it all. Of course, Félix _had_ gone behind his back, and apparently Henri and María Teresa had been co-conspirators in this, but with all the stress of the past months, Amedeo was almost glad they hadn't had to worry about this as well. On the other hand, they'd missed the beginning of a new relationship in the family - Amedeo hadn't even met this new sister-in-law yet and barely knew her first name. Something to rectify at the earliest opportunity.

"Did he say whether they'll stay in Rome or come to live here?" he asked, resting their joined hands on Guillaume's chest. He could feel the steady rise and fall of breaths, slow with tiredness.

"They're going to have to come back to Luxembourg if she really is pregnant. With Louis it was a matter of not letting people notice too much about Tessy, but in this case..." Shaking his head, Guillaume trailed off into a quiet groan. "I still can't believe he did this. Doesn't he understand how important it is that this is done by the book? If he made a mess of it in any way, it's going to cause absolute chaos with the succession."

"As if your parents would let that happen," Amedeo said. "Besides, even if, there's still Sébastien."

"Reassuring," Guillaume muttered.

A smile on his face, Amedeo raised his head and managed to peck him on the cheek without protest. "Stop worrying, I'm sure everything is correct or your parents wouldn't have looked so cheerful yesterday. So what if Félix sneaked this past you? It's going to be fine, and with some luck the pregnancy even happened after the wedding."

"Don't even joke about that!"

"As if it makes a difference as long as the child is born within wedlock, and they seem to have taken care of that." Amedeo kissed him once more, then drew back to meet his eyes. "You won't change anything if you brood over this, so stop it. I can think of much more entertaining uses of your time and energy."

"You aren't seriously considering that again already, are you?" Guillaume slid an arm around him and drew him close, tucked his face against the crook of Amedeo's neck and sighed contentedly, his breath a cool rush of air. "If you let me have a nap now and I can sleep a bit in the car as well, I might just survive the day."

"You need to get more regular workouts," Amedeo commented as he settled more comfortably and let his hand trail along Guillaume's spine, slowly mapping out the sensitive spots and giving them the attention they deserved.

Or he would have, if Guillaume hadn't delivered a sharp bite to his neck that made him draw a startled breath and fall still.

"Do I have to tie you down so you'll let me sleep?" he grumbled, raising his head enough so they could look at each other.

"It's worth a try?" Amedeo quirked his eyebrows suggestively. "But I already packed the cuffs."

"I've got spares," Guillaume told him flatly before snuggling down again.

Amedeo regarded him for a moment, saw the dark smudges under Guillaume's eyes, took into consideration that last night could not exactly be called restful (though definitely fun), and brushed a light kiss against his forehead. "All right, love, sleep," he conceded, and couldn't help adding, "you can always make it up to me later."

***

"We're not terrorising the Danes again, are we?"

Over the edge of his sunglasses, Andrea shot Guillaume an amused look. "Would you care if I said yes?" he asked from his shaded spot under the umbrella he was sharing with William, the second victim of a sun-sensitive complexion.

Guillaume considered it. "Not particularly," he admitted.

Amedeo cast him a surprised look at such blatant lack of diplomacy. Their last few encounters with the Danish crown princely couple hadn't been anywhere near pleasant; Amedeo still felt irritated over being told off by _Crown Princess_ Mary at a fundraiser last week about not meeting her expectations where protocol was concerned, as if anyone who'd born into that particular corset of rules gave a damn. Seeing her deliberately snub Guillaume at Madeleine's Childhood gala last month to make up for some imagined past sleight hadn't endeared her to him either, but at that time he'd consoled himself by watching the back seam of her dress slowly unravel and send the assembled press into a delighted frenzy. Making them the bait in Andrea's distraction scheme earlier this summer to earn all of them a paparazzi-free weekend by pointing out the exalted Danish royal presence as much more desirable than a boring meeting of random blue-bloods had been entirely fair in that respect.

"In that case, sorry to disappoint you," Andrea said and returned to his comfortable sprawl on his brightly coloured beach towel. "Not that I wouldn't have sacrificed them for the greater good if necessary."

"The advantage of having a private cove for family use," Amedeo commented, scooting a little to the right when the shade of the umbrella began to encroach on his sunny spot. It got him - not quite accidentally - closer to Guillaume, too, and in a swift tactical move he rolled over to claim his husband's bare midriff as a pillow. "No unwelcome intruders."

"And no vantage points for the paps," Andrea added happily. "We had one last month who tried to hide up in a tree, but Pierre accidentally shot him down with a football. Good idea, crap execution, if you ask me. At least we didn't have to climb up for the ball."

"Is that why Tatiana checked the trees earlier?" Wills asked. "I was wondering about that."

Andrea nodded. "She doesn't like having an uninvited audience."

"Well, given that it seems like she's currently drowning Carl Philip..." Guillaume commented, trailing off when William sat up to look for his husband. "I didn't mean it literally, you know."

Wills glanced at him. "With Tatiana I'm not taking anything for granted," he said, wincing when a loud splash could be heard from the water, along with some unintelligible shouting.

When Amedeo turned his head to see the source of the commotion, he spotted Carl surface again, looking like a drowned rat but with the ball he and Tatiana had been playing with safely tucked under his arm. Apparently that counted as a victory, since he was grinning madly at her and she almost immediately made a determined lunge towards him in an attempt to liberate the ball.

It really was good there were no photographers around. They might get the wrong idea at the sight of the likely future Princess of Monaco attempting to murder the future Prince Consort of England for a volleyball.

"Is Carl Philip going to panic if I ask them if I can join in?" Guillaume asked, watching the shenanigans in the water.

Amedeo once again blinked in surprise. He'd discovered earlier this summer that the combination of sun, sand and sea - and a good deal of sex - tended to relax Guillaume to an almost astonishing degree, but this was better than he'd have dared hope for. Guillaume, playing nice with his peers? In casual circumstances? Amedeo surreptitiously checked him for signs of sun stroke, but before he could reach a verdict he was rudely bumped off his comfortable cushion when Guillaume sat up. He scowled up at him, but only received an absent pat to the cheek in consolation.

William shrugged. "As long as you don't try to cuddle him I don't think he'll mind. Seeing you safely married did a lot to alleviate his concerns. Don't do anything you wouldn't want me to do to your husband, and it should be fine."

Amedeo suggestively waggled his eyebrows at William. "I've got a few ideas," he grinned, wincing when Guillaume flicked his ear.

"Behave, you," Guillaume told him and bent down for a quick kiss before giving him a gentle shove. "And move into the shade before you turn pink."

Smirking up at him, Amedeo sketched a salute and watched appreciatively as he headed down towards the water. Beach holidays were rapidly becoming his favourite way of spending a weekend off, if only for the sight of Guillaume in shorts. _Wet_ shorts, he mentally amended a moment later. Then he rolled to his feet, swept up his beach towel to shake it free of the sand that clung to it, and stepped over into the coveted umbrella shade.

"I didn't think you'd be that obedient," Andrea remarked as he moved closer to Wills in order to make room for a third sun refugee.

Amedeo spread out his towel. "I know that tone," he said. "Much simpler to go along with it. It's such an effort to get him into a good mood again once he starts brooding."

"Got you under his thumb, has he?"

"I let him think so on occasion." Amedeo settled down, then stretched to relocate his iced tea to a safe spot within easy reach. "So far he's falling for it."

Andrea nodded. "Ah, Guillaume... he's never been the most observant person when it comes to these things, has he? How did you get him to take the weekend off, anyway? Wills keeps saying it's practically impossible."

"It is," William stated. "Poster child for workaholics, that man."

Down in the water, Tatiana was just tackling Guillaume to get the ball from him. Amedeo watched and waited for him to figure out that there was a time and place for gentlemanly behaviour towards her, and that this wasn't it. "Actually, it's been easy. I conspired with his assistant to redistribute some of Guillaume's workload for next week to me so he won't be swamped if he takes a day off in addition to the weekend, then simply put 'International Conference on the Impact of Political Cross-Border Networks' on our schedules for these three days."

"International conference?" Andrea asked, rolling onto his side so they could talk more easily. The move backed him up against William, who didn't seem to care that he had someone other than his husband lean against him while wearing nothing but swimming trunks.

Amedeo shrugged. "You're Monegasque, Wills is British, Carl's Swedish, Tatiana comes from Colombia, I'm Belgian... that's pretty international, I'd say. And we've got three future heads of state here, so there's your political aspect. Guillaume only figured it out when we got off the plane in Nice."

"Sneaky," William said. "I like it, I may have to try-" He was interrupted by the volleyball landing on his towel, narrowly avoiding hitting him, and Amedeo and Andrea had to applaud his reflexes for catching it before it could bounce away.

They looked towards the trio down in the water, who were doing their best impressions of angelic innocence. Carl gave a little wave, said something too low for them to hear, then Guillaume came up towards them.

"Having a good time?" he asked nonchalantly.

"Before you tried to hit me over the head, yes." William tossed him the ball. "Amedeo was just telling us about your discovery of downtime."

Guillaume glanced at Amedeo. "You're one to talk. Do I have to remind you of Tuesday?"

"What was on Tuesday?" William wanted to know.

"He had a two-hour meeting with young entrepreneurs on the schedule, right after breakfast, and the rest of the day reserved for preparatory work. By midnight I _was_ starting to wonder where he'd disappeared to, so I called and found out he was drafting business plans and investment schedules with some of them. Apparently we now have an annual Hereditary Grand Ducal award for the best proposal."

"Your father did say we should start a few joint projects," Amedeo interjected.

"And of course that unplanned afternoon meant pulling an all-nighter towards Wednesday, which then meant he wasn't up to par that day and had to do another late-nighter then, and start early on Thursday and Friday as well to stand a chance and catch up." Guillaume gave him a meaningful look, which was studiously ignored. "I'm not sure who was actually more in need of this weekend." He spun the ball in his hands and shrugged. "Anyway, that was Tuesday," he said, then turned and headed back down to Tatiana and Carl.

Wills rose up on his elbows and looked at Amedeo with disapproval. "I expect someone's explained you by now that spontaneous schedule changes are a bad, _bad_ idea?"

Amedeo grimaced. "Only Guillaume, Uncle Henri, Aunt María Teresa, and Uncle Philippe. I get the idea, and it's not as if I do it all the time. I just really liked those projects."

Another appraising stare from the future King of England, then his argument was accepted with a brief nod. "One of you has to stay reasonable. We've only just gotten Guillaume to open up a little, it would be a shame if his bad habits rub off on you now and you both drop dead with exhaustion."

Maybe it hadn't been the wisest thing to enlist William's assistance with Guillaume, Amedeo mused, since it seemed he wasn't going to give it up again now. Royal persistence could be a tricky thing to deal with; when it came to agreements, it was always important to remember that these were people who'd been trained from birth to take any and all responsibilities seriously.

"He's doing a lot better by now," he offered. "He hardly protested when he got off the plane, and he hasn't tried to swap the tickets to an earlier flight back."

"A miracle," Andrea commented, flopping back onto his stomach to reach for his drink. He took a sip, then put down his glass into the carefully dug hollow in the sand to keep it stable and upright. "Any ideas yet about your next visit, gentlemen?"

William lifted an eyebrow at the question. "Keen to get rid of us, are you?"

"Nah, I'm always happy to have you. But Uncle Albert's been talking about my plans for the coming weeks. I suspect he's planning to draft me."

Above Andrea's head, William and Amedeo exchanged a quick glance.

"It had to come eventually, didn't it?" Wills asked. "It's not like you'll be getting a cousin on that side of the family anymore."

And a good thing it was, Amedeo figured, but didn't say that out loud. As far as he was concerned, Andrea looked by far like the best option for that particular succession. Admittedly, though, it could hardly get any worse compared to the current situation.

"No, that ship has sailed by now, I'd say, and I think Uncle Albert is starting to like the idea of resigning sometime soon rather than sticking around for another twenty years to raise an heir. I just wish he'd broken the idea to me gently." Andrea emptied his drink, then contemplated the melting ice cubes in his glass.

Amedeo took the glass from him and got up to refill it from the pitcher of iced tea they'd brought along to save them too many trips back and forth to the beach house. Surprisingly un-spiked, and he knew he wasn't the only one who'd been sneaking covert looks at Tatiana's bare belly after discovering the unexpected lack of alcohol. "You must have seen it coming, though," he said as he poured.

"Yes, but it's never been that immediate. He's signed me up for all governmental meetings from next month on, and the staff has hijacked my calendar. Without warning, too, I just called it up a few days ago and it was full with inaugurations of fountains and conferences on sustainable harbour development." Andrea sighed. "A bit of warning would have been nice."

Wills frowned. "There's nothing wrong with your uncle, is there?"

Andrea smirked, but it lacked his usual humour. "Nothing new, at least. No, he's just decided he wants to retire sooner rather than later."

"And for that he's got to give you a crash course?" Amedeo asked, passing him the refilled glass. "Evil for you, but from his point of view it makes a world of sense."

"Not exactly a consolation," Andrea muttered. "And it's not a crash course, it's just him shoving stuff at me and expecting me to know what to do about it."

"So what _are_ you going to do about it?"

"What _can_ I do, vanish to South America and leave Pierre to take over? He'll hunt me down and kill me if I ever do that to him." Andrea shrugged. "Like you said, it's been coming for a while."

William reached out to give his bare shoulder a reassuring pat. "You'll manage," he said in that wonderfully convincing tone of voice he had. "Surely you can't be doubting that?"

"That would mean doubting my mother, she's trained me up to it." Andrea cast him a lopsided smile. "I'm looking forward to it, in a way, simply because it means I can finally figure out what the rest of my life is going to look like. But at the same time it's too sudden for comfort."

The breeze from the sea picked up a bit, and a sudden gust overturned the edge of Amedeo's towel. "I get what you mean," he said, smoothing it out again. It was a fate he had escaped, with considerable luck, but the awareness that he was a de facto heir had shadowed a large part of his life.

Andrea glanced at him and, after a moment, gave him an acknowledging nod. "Thought you might, of all people."

William looked at them curiously, and Amedeo had to remind himself that he was someone who'd never spent a moment in his life not knowing what his future would hold.

"It's the difference between you heirs apparent and us heirs presumptive," he attempted an explanation. "You've been second in line to the English throne since the moment you drew your first breath, and you can only move up. There's no margin for doubt anywhere, the only question for you is when they'll put the crown on your head. But for those of us who're directly in line only as long as nobody else moves in ahead of us... there's a lot of uncertainty about it."

And the requirements of heirs were so different from what was needed of anyone intending to lead a normal life that the gap was constantly widening. Amedeo knew that he'd had a lucky escape; he'd already been put through the prerequisite elite boarding schools and military academy, and had only gotten his way when it had come to studying. And even then it had been a matter of sneaking behind his parents' backs to avoid the intended courses in politics and international law which were practically mandatory for heirs these days.

"I always thought it was fairly obvious how it would work out in your cases," William said.

"Did you? That's more than I ever did, until Elisabeth was born I was practically resigned to the idea that I'd have to succeed Uncle Philippe one day. And I got lucky compared to Andrea."

Andrea drew a mock-suffering face, while William worked it out in his head.

"Closer and closer to the throne, then Albert ends up married after all but there's still no heir?" he tried.

"That would be it." Amedeo pushed himself up on one elbow so he could look at his two companions more comfortably. "You heirs apparent have no idea how easy your life is."

William lifted an eyebrow. "I could argue that point," he said mildly.

"You know what's coming," Andrea said. "We don't. Look at Amedeo and me, we've been in the same situation initially, with an uncle without a wife and children. Every year moves us closer to the throne, because it gets more and more unlikely that there'll ever be a marriage and legitimate children."

"They'd practically given up with Uncle Philippe by the time he married Mathilde," Amedeo supplied. He'd been old enough by then to understand what his uncle's status as a single meant for his own future and, more importantly, he'd been old enough to dread the prospect.

"Same as with Uncle Albert. Anyway, the longer that uncertain status lasts, the more training we are put through in case we need to do the job at some point. And then there's a marriage - in Amedeo's case he eventually got a few cousins to take up the front slots in the succession ahead of him, in my case there aren't any cousins and, by now, separate bedrooms so I'd have to believe in miracles."

William was listening attentively, iced tea in hand but ignored for the moment.

"What it comes down to," Amedeo picked up the thread, "Is that you didn't end up with a radical change in careers in the middle of your life. We did. Twice, when you think of it - we both got out of the royal game, then back in."

He'd never asked Andrea about it, but he figured that he, too, would have stayed away from that second turnaround if it had been possible. The only people who really _wanted_ the royal job these days were the wannabe princesses, and even they tended to flee once they figured out that this sort of existence came with very few tiaras and instead a lot of grueling sixteen-hour workdays. If it hadn't been the only way to have an official relationship with Guillaume, Amedeo wouldn't have renounced his escape into anonymity unless Philippe had asked for it; and even then only if circumstances had truly been dire. Family sense did prevail, and he suspected it was what made Andrea accept his lot in life rather than vanish somewhere.

"I hadn't looked at it like that," William said thoughtfully.

Andrea shrugged. "It never had to occur to you. But you're a lot luckier than you realise that Bea took it all in stride when she got bumped up in the succession. The only thing that probably kept her from assassinating you in retaliation was that it would be counter-productive."

"Upset, was she?" Amedeo asked.

A pained expression crossed William's face at that. "She keeps saying I owe her and that she'll collect the favour one of these days. I have the odd feeling that she isn't talking about taking over the occasional appointment."

"Well, you _are_ essentially asking her to find a suitable husband and hatch your heir and spare," Andrea said, cocking his head at the sound of electronic gadgetry in search of attention. He rose up on his elbows, then leaned across William - ignoring the indignant grumbling from that direction - to snatch up his beeping cell phone from the little box they'd used to stash all sand-sensitive items. Amedeo spared a moment to wonder what William's security guards, ten meters off under their own umbrella and looking less than comfortable in their suits, thought of a half-naked heir of Monaco draping himself over their equally undressed prince. It made him glad he and Guillaume rarely had to bother with bodyguards; outside of Luxembourg and Belgium nobody knew them, and inside the borders it was generally safe to consider the people not interested enough in them to bother with anything beyond one or two guards at most.

"Anything important?" William asked when Andrea flopped back down on the towel, his cheerful expression replaced with a frown.

"Define 'important'." Andrea pushed his shades further up his nose. "Looks like I'm inaugurating an art gallery tomorrow evening instead of Uncle Albert. Ah, damn, Tatiana had plans already, she's going to hate this."

"How is she taking it, anyway?" Amedeo wanted to know.

"That she's going to end up with a prince after all? She's not too happy about it. That's one advantage you guys have, nobody's looking at you to produce heirs."

"So you haven't started with that yet?" William voiced the question that had been on everyone's mind today.

Andrea twisted around to look at him. "Are you asking whether I'm sleeping with my girlfriend?" he demanded to know, his tone incredulous.

"I'm taking that for granted," William returned, and Amedeo had to applaud his matter-of-fact expression. "You may be Catholic, but you aren't that weird. Just... what's up with the iced tea?"

"What do you mean?" The confusion in Andrea's voice was hard to miss.

"It's the first time since I know you that you didn't spike it. Is that because Tatiana isn't allowed?"

When Amedeo leaned forward a little, he had to grin at the absolutely stunned expression on Andrea's face. It was an answer, in a way, and a highly entertaining one at that.

"Is _that_ why you all keep staring at her belly?"

William shared Amedeo's grin. "Why else?"

Andrea gestured vaguely and opened his mouth, then shut it, shook his head and tried again. "She hasn't... you only think it because of the drinks, right? Not because of anything else?"

"Admittedly, I thought she'd put on a little weight since the last time we were here," Amedeo said innocently, heroically keeping his face straight when Andrea scrambled upright to get a better look at his girlfriend down in the surf.

"Tell me you're joking," he demanded, waving at Tatiana when she happened to glance back towards them.

Wills gently cuffed him behind the ear, and Andrea ducked away. "Of course he's joking. But you had us wondering with the sudden switch to sobriety."

"Coincidence," Andrea muttered. "Nothing else." He shook his head. "Don't shock me like that!"

"You're eventually going to have to think about it," William pointed out.

"Eventually. Not now."

Sooner rather than later, though, Amedeo figured. One concern he and Guillaume were spared, fortunately, and he was grateful for that every time he saw that particular mix of panic and anticipation that seemed to have become Félix' permanent expression these days with Anna in the last weeks of pregnancy. But if Andrea really was looking at a future as Prince of Monaco, it was something he and Tatiana would have to figure out. Not everyone had obliging siblings who willingly handed over a child for heir training.

A screech followed by an almighty splash had them turn their attention to the trio in the water; Tatiana and Guillaume were scrambling to their feet while Carl Philip looked on with an angelic smile. For an instant they looked like they'd calmed down again and Tatiana came up to Carl to lightly punch his arm, then did _something_ that had him go under in the thigh-deep water. He surfaced again almost immediately, and Amedeo watched with some fascination as he accepted Guillaume's offer of a hand up.

It seemed to be the end to their play, though; Tatiana and Guillaume came out of the water and waited for Carl to fetch the ball before it could float off, then they made their way back across the short stretch of sand together, Guillaume in the lead, Tatiana with her arm slung around the shoulders of a faintly concerned-looking Carl.

Beach holidays, Amedeo thought happily as he appreciated the sight of Guillaume in wet swimming trunks, really were worth the effort and subterfuge it took to arrange them.

"Enough?" William asked when Carl dropped down by his side, and offered up his iced tea with a magnanimous gesture.

"For now." Carl drained the glass, then jingled it and shot Wills a meaningful look.

William seemed puzzled for an instant, then grinned. "Ah. No."

Both Carl and Guillaume breathed deep sighs of relief while Tatiana glanced at them, shrugged and settled down cross-legged in her previous sunny spot to wring the water out of her hair. She stopped briefly to accept the drink Guillaume, always polite, had fetched her, then went back to the task at hand.

Guillaume cast another surreptitious look at her flat stomach before frowning and coming to sit by Amedeo. "Do you mind sharing? I had enough sun, I think."

Amedeo blinked up at him at that typically reasonable statement. "As if you'd burn, with your ancestry," he said but willingly moved over to make room on his towel.

"No point in risking it, I wasn't out much this summer."

Amedeo arched an eyebrow. "And whose fault is that?" he asked, rising up to claim a kiss that tasted less of Guillaume and more of sun screen and seawater. Guillaume's hand slipped to the nape of his neck to keep him in place and tilt his head upwards so they could kiss more comfortably, for now with no regard for their audience. Humming happily low in his throat, Amedeo closed his eyes and let him go ahead, faintly curious how far he'd take this.

From Amedeo's other side, Andrea sounded like he was barely suppressing laughter. "You know, you don't have to stay here with us if you've got better ideas."

Guillaume withdrew, ignoring Amedeo's faint murmur of protest, and lightly rested his chin on top of Amedeo's head. "I'm merely showing my appreciation," he stated calmly, but did rebuff Amedeo when he attempted to nibble at his favourite spot on Guillaume's throat, so temptingly within easy reach.

Andrea sighed with mock disapproval. "I could have told you that two weeks are simply too short for a honeymoon."

A last nuzzle to Guillaume's throat, then Amedeo turned around to smirk at him. "Jealous?" he asked.

Andrea blinked, and after a moment summoned a sassy smile. "Of you or Guillaume?"

Amedeo cocked his head. "Well, if you ask like that..." he shot back, but trailed off when Guillaume's hand snaked around his waist and tightened briefly across his bare belly.

"Play nice, you two." From her sun-bathed spot Tatiana was watching them, and it was with some relief that Amedeo spotted the telltale wrinkles of laughter at the corner of her eyes, just visible behind the sunglasses. Royal women in general and Tatiana - if not quite royal yet - in particular were people to treat with some caution, in his experience. They tended to be a lot more ruthless than people gave those cute, pretty princesses credit for.

"Were we ever this bad?" Carl wanted to know. He'd moved into the sun for now to dry out, and didn't appear to mind that his shins were caked in sand by now. "We've never been this bad, right?"

"You're married to a Brit, I'm sure Wills is simply incapable of it," Andrea assured him. "Though you had your moments."

William gave him a lazy glance out of half-closed eyes. "And of course you know what I'm capable of?"

"I don't, actually," Andrea said. "Much to my regret."

Tatiana threw an ice cube at him and hit his shoulder with unerring accuracy, sending him scrambling to dislodge the chill missile when it slid down his back. William kindly reached out and removed it, then tossed it onto the hot sand.

"Enough flirting," he told Andrea firmly. "Or you won't have any of us offer to keep you company tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" Tatiana wanted to know. "I thought you're all leaving in the morning?"

"Uncle Albert rescheduled me," Andrea told her, and Amedeo could hear the genuine displeasure at it in his voice. "Tomorrow evening, for a vernissage. I'd change it if I could, but..."

"But it's official," Tatiana continued, a frown on her face. "Next time I see your uncle, he's getting a piece of my mind. He can't just turn your life over like that."

If she kept that attitude, Monaco and especially the princely court might be in for a few surprises. Tatiana hadn't grown up with that immovable knowledge that royal duties came before personal needs, like Amedeo and the others, so she wasn't accepting it even after a decade at Andrea's side. It was a point in her favour that she still held on to that conviction after all that time; she must have seen private wishes overruled again and again. All the other princesses-by-marriage Amedeo knew had resigned themselves to the new priorities in their life at some point.

"If you can beat that into his skull, I'll be grateful," Andrea said. "But he's out of the country, so I don't think you can do it in time to save tomorrow."

Tatiana muttered something that sounded highly unflattering and shook her head. "We'll deal. I'll come with you, don't worry. Wills, did you mean you'll stay?"

William shared a quick look with Carl, then nodded. "I've only got staff meetings on Monday, if you want me to I can reschedule."

"And Carl?"

"Babysitting a handful of delegates for Vicky, sorry." Carl rose up to his knees and shuffled over to his husband's side in the shade. "But I'll lend you Wills if you promise to return him in one piece."

Andrea looked at them, eyebrows waggling. "Don't worry, we'll take good care of him."

Carl gave him one of those unreadable glances that occasionally passed between them, and which Amedeo had given up deciphering. "I'll hold you to that," he said.

Rising up, Andrea leaned across William to give Carl a friendly peck on the cheek. "Trust me. After all, I want more chances to show off you proper royals."

"Better get used to the idea that you're part of that club as well," William said, seemingly ignoring the fact that Andrea was once more getting rather friendly with his husband. "Guillaume? Amedeo? Got plans for Monday?"

"No, I rescheduled everything to Tuesday anyway." Knowing what he was about to see, Amedeo twisted around to meet Guillaume's irritated expression and counter it with a determined glower of his own. "It's for your own good, deal with it."

Guillaume frowned at him. "I must speak to Marie and tell her that she isn't allowed to change my schedule on your say-so."

Determined, Amedeo held his gaze. "Do that and I'll convince your father to give the command," he said firmly, ignoring their audience, who'd turned studiously silent.

"He wouldn't-"

"Oh, yes, he would. I'm actually under strict orders to make you take time off, and I'm supposed to report if you resist. And that's just from your father, you don't want to know what your mother had to say about it."

They stared at each other for another few seconds. Then Guillaume blinked, sighed and shook his head, still visibly displeased that Amedeo had dared to mess with the sacrosanct appointments. "I can imagine," he muttered. "All right. Tuesday, but you're giving me an hour later this afternoon to get some things done."

"An hour," Amedeo conceded, then leaned in for a quick kiss. "Stop looking like that and admit it already that you like being here."

"I admit to nothing," Guillaume grumbled. Another glower at Amedeo, then he straightened and looked over at Andrea, who seemed to have a hard time to refrain from laughing. "Tuesday it is, apparently. Can you have us on a plane back home before midnight?"

Andrea gave him a grateful nod. "That won't be a problem," he said. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it." Guillaume actually sounded like he meant it, and was already losing that irritated look. Beach holidays, Amedeo thought fondly, and quickly went over the mental list he had of all their scheduled events on Tuesday. Manageable, though if they ended up moving the internal meetings they had until noon it would leave them with little to do but work and possibly sleep for the rest of the week.

Still, it was a favour within their power to grant, and Andrea could use all the visible backing from his peers he could get. Amedeo hadn't paid much attention to it before, but since last autumn he'd consciously kept an eye on how the Grimaldis were received and hadn't liked it much. They might just be a princely house, but that didn't mean they ought to be snubbed, not when they were one of just two monarchies in Europe who still ruled in more than just name. If turning up in proper blue-blooded company on occasion helped to make Andrea's future life easier, Amedeo had no problem to overthrow his schedule now and then. And Guillaume, too, could surely be brought to see the importance of assisting a fellow future ruler, if he hadn't figured it out by now anyway.

With all the more and less subtle hints and comments Amedeo had dropped over the past months, he’d better have it figured out.

"Is anyone going to care if we come in jeans, by the way?" William asked. "Because I didn't pack for work."

Andrea waved off. "Monaco," he simply said. "Summer. They might prefer it if you didn't come naked, but that's about it."

"Pity," Amedeo murmured just before Guillaume could cover his mouth with his hand to shut him up.

Andrea flashed him a grin. "You know... far be it from me to stop you if you really _want_ to. I’m sure the gallery would appreciate the added publicity, that’s even better than just three real royals.”

Shaking her head, Tatiana rose up from her towel and padded over to the low table in the shade to refill her glass. “And here we all thought you were just a little eccentric but otherwise harmless and innocent," she commented, bending down to tousle Amedeo's hair.

"If you thought I was harmless and innocent," Amedeo said, slightly muffled by Guillaume's hand, "Why did you give us whole cases full of bondage gear for our wedding?"

Behind him, Guillaume heaved a deep sigh.

"Shock value," Andrea told him. "Though I suspect it didn't really work out that way."

"Oh, someone got shocked, trust me," Guillaume muttered. "It just wasn't him."

***

Amedeo almost managed to be late to his own birthday party.

"I swear, that bloody curse you have on you is rubbing off," he complained to Guillaume on the phone. All around him, other stranded airline passengers were waiting for news concerning their flights out of Dublin, once more delayed by Icelandic volcano activity. "We're seeing a witch once I'm back, this simply can't go on."

Guillaume eventually managed to stop laughing and kept him company on the phone until, miracle of miracles, progress happened and he was on a rescheduled flight to Paris. Not the most convenient destination when he had plans in Luxembourg, but at this point Amedeo was ready to take anything that got him off this godforsaken island and vaguely in the right direction.

"How was the conference?" Guillaume asked a few hours later, after Amedeo had come rushing up the steps to their apartment to throw on a fresh set of clothes so he wouldn't run around in his 'financially interested young royal on official business' get-up.

Amedeo gestured dismissively and began to unbutton his shirt. "Fine, we've got the partnerships I wanted and I've talked some of the speakers into attending an event for my project so the kids can hear them, too."

"You realise that some of those kids are older than you, right?" Guillaume asked, sounding highly amused.

"Barely, and who cares," he said as he shrugged out of his shirt and tossed it towards the laundry basket in the corner. It tethered on the brink for a moment, then fell down on the right side. "Do I have time for a shower?"

No answer was immediately forthcoming, and he smirked when he turned to look at Guillaume, who was holding a fresh shirt for him but didn't make any move to hand it over.

"Let me rephrase that," he purred, crossing the room in a few long strides to claim a kiss; it took astonishingly little effort to coax Guillaume into forgetting about keeping it chaste and proper. "Do we have time for a proper welcome home?" he murmured, snuggling close when Guillaume's hands settled against his bare back automatically.

They shared another kiss, of the 'happy birthday, and did I tell you I missed you' variety, then Guillaume reluctantly drew back. "We've got a house full of party guests arriving in less than an hour."

Amedeo shot him an impish smile. "That leaves us half an hour and enough time to get tidied up afterwards, don't you think?"

***

"Late for your own party?" Wills asked with a far too knowing grin.

Feeling splendidly satisfied with the world in general and the past hour in particular, Amedeo simply smiled. "Always the trouble with planes these days," he said. "You know how it goes."

Wills grinned back. "I do, but the air hostesses have never left me with a hickey.“

He involuntarily raised his hand up to his neck, to the spot high at the side of his throat where he could still feel the lingering heat of Guillaume's mouth on his skin. "Rough landing?" he offered.

"I bet." A quick look around, then, "Good thing you decided on an informal party so you don't have to sit down right now, isn't it?"

Amedeo, still pleasantly sore in all the right places, sharply inhaled through a mouthful of sparkling water, and it took a major effort not to sputter all over the future King of England and provoke an international incident.

Wills gave him an amused wink. "Thought so," he said, then his face suddenly went completely, politely blank, as though someone had flipped a switch.

"Amedeo - and William, too! How wonderful to see you here! It's so rare to find any of you British people at these events."

When it had come to the guest list, Amedeo had been cautious with his choices. While this was a private party, it was still a semi-official event when an heir's prince consort turned thirty, so there were more than a few political and diplomatic intricacies attached to the celebrations. The choice of which of their personal friends to invite had been simple, and most of their peer group didn't require much thought either, especially since a lot of them fell neatly into the friends category anyway or were at least people Amedeo didn't mind spending some time with. But there were a few cases in which he had practically prayed for the invitations to get lost in the mail. The Danish Crown Princely couple definitely qualified for those considerations; nobody minded Frederick, but whenever Mary approached, people tended to flee.

"A pleasure to see you," William said hurriedly. "But I must excuse myself for now... I am sure you two have plenty to talk about."

 _Traitor_ , Amedeo mouthed behind Mary's back, then quickly smiled when she turned towards him. William shot him an apologetic look before deserting hastily enough to make Andrea, chatting with Theodora a few steps away in a corner, turn around to see what the sudden rush was about. He spotted Mary, briefly met Amedeo's eyes and winced in sympathy when he realised the predicament.

"I thought you had the list limited to royal guests?" the Danish Crown Princess asked with an irritated glare towards the corner. "Well, I suppose you couldn't help inviting them."

"The Grimaldis are a ruling house," he pointed out, icily polite. "Andrea is going to be the next Prince of Monaco, I'd say he qualifies."

It was impossible to miss the looks Mary was shooting towards the object of offense, and Andrea appeared unwilling to even pretend he wasn't noticing. A sardonic smile on his face, he sauntered over to join the two of them, and Amedeo could have kissed him out of sheer gratitude.

"Amedeo," he said, nodding his head in greeting. "Mary."

"I do not think we are on such a personal basis, Mister Casiraghi," she sniffed. Andrea, visibly surprised, took a step back. "Amedeo, if you'd be so kind and see where my husband has disappeared to, that would be very kind."

"Certainly," he said with a quick glance to Andrea. This was his home, his party, Andrea was his guest, his _friend_ , and Amedeo decided this was an appropriate moment to fall back on a thousand years’ worth of dynastic arrogance that had been bred into his bones. "A hint, if I may," he said, not offering his arm even though she was clearly waiting for it. "I realise you haven't been raised with court protocol lessons, so it's eminently forgivable that you don't know these intricacies. But since you brought it up... the correct way to address me is as Your Imperial and Royal Highness, or as Archduke Amedeo. You may also want to remember that as an archduke, I outrank you now and will still outrank you once Guillaume and Frederick both rule. Besides," he added, remembering more than a few small but deliberate sleights towards Guillaume, "the same goes for my husband, we have received confirmation by now that he may share my titles if he wishes."

He had the deep and profound satisfaction of watching the Crown Princess of Denmark at a loss for words.

"Your husband is out on the balcony with Victoria, by the way," he pointed out helpfully. "I trust you'll be able to find the way."

Mary stared briefly, then stalked off. Amedeo waited until she was safely out of earshot, then took a deep breath and tried to shake some of the tension.

"Thanks for that one," Andrea said, a little wide-eyed.

Amedeo gave him a lopsided smile. "You're welcome," he returned. "God, that woman, she's really had it coming for a while. I've got to collect my reward from Harry next time I see him, he's promised a bottle of thirty-year-old Lagavulin to anyone who shoots her down. You can be my witness."

"If you'll share the bottle? Sure." Andrea treated him to a smirk that looked a lot more genuine again. "So you Habsburgs have decided to treat Guillaume as though he's your wife?"

The mere idea was enough to startle Amedeo into a laugh. "Don't let him hear that. Besides, it's more a case of the house elders playing dynastic one-upmanship with the Bourbon-Parmas again. If they let Guillaume share my titles, they can claim that Luxembourg is ruled by a Habsburg and edge out the Bourbons."

Andrea arched an eyebrow. "See, I knew you'd go and start an empire eventually. It must be genetic with you."

"It's not as if we're going to be able to start our own dynasty."

"Hasn't stopped you Habsburgs before, has it?"

Amedeo sighed in exasperation. "Andrea, one of these days I'm going to sit you down and point out all those ancestors we've got in common. Especially the really colourful ones. Deny it all you want, but you're about as much of a royal mongrel as the rest of us." He turned more serious again, remembering another issue he'd meant to bring up. "Where's Tatiana, by the way?"

Andrea suddenly avoided eye contact.

"You did realise that I addressed the invitation to both of you, right?" Amedeo wanted to know. "It's high time you get over that idea that you need to be married before you can bring her along."

Shrugging, Andrea looked at him again. "We thought we'd play it safe and avoid any negative attention," he said.

"Since when do you care about that?" Amedeo shook his head. He understood the motivation behind it and the desire not to take a wrong step when the Grimaldis had such precarious standing in these circles, but this was going too far. "As though anyone aside from her Royal Stuffiness is going to be bothered by Tatiana being your wife or not. Want me to prove it to you?" He didn't wait for an answer, just took a quick look around, spotted a suitable target and grabbed Andrea's wrist.

Máxima looked faintly puzzled when Amedeo stopped at her side, dragging Andrea behind him like a recalcitrant puppy. "And just what are you two up to?" she asked.

Amedeo innocently fluttered his eyelashes at her. "Nothing whatsoever. I'd just like to ask you whether you think it acceptable to bring a girlfriend to a practically private party like this one. Especially when the host has invited her."

For a moment she frowned, then appeared to put two and two together. "I don't see any problem," she said and gave Amedeo a conspiratorial wink. "Actually, why don't you two come to my birthday party this year? You can introduce her to everyone there."

They stayed a little to chat and have a look at the new pictures of the kids, then Máxima was collected by Victoria and Mathilde, both wearing suspiciously harmless looks. "I told you so," Amedeo said once the women were gone to do whatever they were plotting.

Andrea gave him a one-armed hug and a peck on the cheek. "All right, I get the idea, Your Imperial and Royal Highness."

"See that you do." Amedeo was about to say more when he felt an arm slide around his waist from the other side, dislodging Andrea's and firmly drawing him back a step.

"Do you _have_ to molest my husband?" Guillaume demanded to know, a possessive growl to his voice that made Amedeo want to grab him and look for a quiet corner somewhere for a few undisturbed minutes.

With a quick laugh, Andrea held up his hands in defense. "I'm merely showing my appreciation, nothing more."

"See, another reason for you to bring Tatiana. You don't need to snuggle up to other people." Amedeo winked at him. "Not that I'm complaining, but I'm happily married, you know."

Guillaume's arm tightened around him. "And you'd better remember that."

Amedeo turned towards him, a small smile on his face that was usually reserved for more private moments. "Always, love, no need to worry," he said, and in a swift move leaned in to claim Guillaume's mouth before there could be any protests about audiences and public venues.

He managed to coax Guillaume into a few seconds of thorough kissing before they broke apart again, much more than what he'd managed to sneak in just half a year ago. Persistence paid off in this case, and it wasn't as though they were doing anything the other princely couples didn't do as well in public situations. Amedeo was careful not to push too hard, but he also didn't intend to let up until he got Guillaume comfortable with familiar gestures. Propriety was all well and good, but they also had an image as a content, happy couple to maintain if they didn't want to face unpleasant rumours. And while Amedeo had no doubts whatsoever that they _were_ all that and more, the public had to see occasional glimpses of it.

A chuckle made him turn his head to see Andrea's eyes bright with mirth as he watched them. "I can make excuses for you if you want to disappear for a little while," he offered, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Before Amedeo could seriously consider the offer, tempting as it was, Guillaume cleared his throat, then leaned away to straighten out his clothes. He did keep his arm where it was, though, and Amedeo quietly covered Guillaume's hand on his hip with his own in response.

"Amedeo can hardly vanish from his own party," Guillaume protested.

Andrea shrugged. "I wouldn't worry too much about that, everybody's well on their way to getting merrily buzzed. And you wouldn't be the first to have a little intermezzo." He paused, a glint in his eyes. "Ask Wills about laundry closets at some point."

Amedeo quirked an eyebrow curiously, then gave Guillaume a speculative look.

Guillaume gave him a flat look back.

Amedeo smirked.

Guillaume sighed. "Amedeo..."

Out of the corner of his eye, Amedeo saw Andrea wave cheerfully before he slipped away, granting them a spot of privacy.

"You're not planning anything, are you?" Guillaume asked.

Amedeo turned fully towards him. "Stop worrying," he said. "I'm not. But even if... so what?"

The question earned him a frown. "You know what."

"Actually, no, I don't." Amedeo met his gaze, his eyes narrowed, then shook his head. "Later, Guillaume. For now, relax, these are actually friends around us here."

Guillaume blinked but chose not to comment, he just reached for Amedeo's hand and gave it a brief squeeze.

Amedeo tightened his fingers around Guillaume's and drew him into a half-hug once again, encountering no resistance this time. They shared a few seconds, heads resting lightly together, before Amedeo released Guillaume with a brief brush of lips against his temple. "Do me a favour?"

He received a quizzical look in response. "What do you need?"

"Stay away from Mary. I may have slightly offended her earlier, and I don't want her to kidnap you in retaliation." He winked. "I do have plans for you later, after all, it would be a shame if she dragged you off to have her revenge."

***

"Plans, you said?" Guillaume asked a few hours later as he let Amedeo march him backwards across the room, stopping when his legs came up against the bed.

"Plans," Amedeo confirmed, giving him a well-calculated shove that sent him tumbling onto the mattress. Their eyes met, and for an instant Amedeo just took in the sight of Guillaume sprawled in front of him and simply had to follow him down and reclaim his mouth in a fierce kiss that left both of them breathless.

He didn't often get Guillaume to yield control; it was a surefire way to bring him down from stress and tension, but it also took just the right approach at the right time to coax him into letting go. Tonight, though, it weren't such considerations that drove him - he simply _wanted_ this and let it show, and Guillaume's reactions to his touches and caresses were a more than clear agreement.

"What sort..." Guillaume trailed off, tilting back his head when Amedeo trailed licking, sucking bites up along his throat. "Mn, yes, do that again... what sort of plans?"

Amedeo indulged him for a little while, focused on the sighs and soft moans in response to his attentions, then worked his way up to Guillaume's face and eventually found the corner of his mouth. "I thought I'd unwrap a few presents," he murmured and moved in for a thorough, inviting kiss to tempt Guillaume into letting go and just play.

Guillaume's arms came around him, hands settling at the small of his back to draw him close and hold him in place. "As long as you leave whatever is in that box Andrea gave you for tomorrow," he said, the request tempered by a smile.

"A casual mention of Andrea?" Amedeo teased, his fingers slipping into the gap between the buttons of Guillaume's shirt to find the skin underneath. "From you? How unexpected."

"And I'll leave it at a casual mention and not think of him any more," Guillaume told him firmly.

"No interest in any new toys?" He undid the first button, then leaned down to lick the bared spot. Another button, another brush of lips, and he almost missed the minute shiver running through Guillaume at the gesture. A thought occurred to him; one more kiss and he quickly rolled away, towards the nightstand, and blindly reached into the drawer. "What about old ones?"

"Amedeo..."

He laid his palm flat on Guillaume's chest, felt the strong rise and fall of his breaths slow marginally at the soothing touch. "Cuffs or scarves?" he asked and, when no answer was immediately forthcoming, went for the latter, more understated option. The soft fabric was cool against his fingertips, and he let the silk trail across Guillaume's arm for a moment before laying it aside to swiftly do away with the shirt entirely. "All right with this, love?" he wanted - needed - to know, his hand closing around Guillaume's left wrist, fingertips against the swift patter of his pulse. He knew that what they were doing was tame by most standards, but that didn't mean they'd ever be anything but careful.

Guillaume nodded, his breathing quickening. "All right," he confirmed when they looked at each other, his voice not quite steady, his eyes darkening with arousal.

Amedeo held his gaze for a few seconds, then leaned in for a kiss, firm and reassuring, before reaching for the silk scarves again. Guillaume went utterly still when he wound the soft fabric around his wrists, his entire body tense, and Amedeo felt the twitch of muscles underneath his hands as he petted and caressed, his touches calming for now. A minute or two, then Guillaume gave an experimental tug at the bonds and the tension drained out of him almost at once.

It was the sign Amedeo had watched out for, the realisation that control no longer was an issue or an option; another quick check of Guillaume's wrists, then he shot his husband an impish grin and nipped at his collarbone. A gasp somewhere between surprise and pleasure was his reward and he tried again, then followed it up with a lick to soothe the sting. He tasted Guillaume on his tongue, familiar and so tempting, and just had to have another kiss, a low growl escaping him when Guillaume didn't immediately yield under his mouth.

That Guillaume could let go of his usual need for at least some control in any situation was a major proof of trust, Amedeo knew, and he'd always be careful not to push him too far. Testing their limits here and keeping it safely within their comfort zone was a balancing act, tricky but so rewarding, a heady rush to know he had that sort of power over Guillaume and, even more, that Guillaume willingly handed it over. That it was relatively rare for him to do so meant that this demonstration of faith was something to be thoroughly appreciated, and Amedeo gave it his absolute best. After all their time together, he knew Guillaume's body as well as his own, knew exactly where to nibble and lick, how firmly to grip his leg at that spot just above the knee to draw out the sort of half-lost moan nobody but him ever got to hear.

He shifted, leaned down to replace his hand with his lips and trail slow kisses up along Guillaume's inner thigh, relishing the reactions it got him. Guillaume at his mercy, and willingly so... he intended to enjoy every moment of this.

"You owe me a favour, by the way," he commented, his tongue teasing a line along the groove where thigh met torso. "For saving you from your Greco-Danish valkyrie."

Guillaume shot him a slightly wild-eyed look. "You've got me tied up in bed, isn't that favour enough?"

Amedeo rested his chin on Guillaume's hip to smirk up at him. "It's a start," he conceded. "And I'm sure I can think of ways to collect the rest. Maybe this," he rose up for a teasing nip at the tender skin of his husband's belly. "Or this," he purred, letting his hand dip between Guillaume's legs and making him buck his hips in a desperate try for more contact.

The heartfelt moan from Guillaume was enough to make him feel magnanimous and give both of them what they were after.

Later, all favours collected to their mutual satisfaction, Amedeo slowly stroked his hand along Guillaume's flank as they lay together, basking in the afterglow as their breaths gradually slowed. He could feel the heartbeat under his cheek, still faster than usual, and turned his head to press a kiss against his sternum in response. A perfect end to a good day, he thought, smiling when Guillaume murmured in quiet encouragement. They didn't often have carefree nights like this anymore, which made it all the more important to appreciate these moments as thoroughly as possible.

Lazily he turned over to meet Guillaume's eyes, saw the wordless invitation in them and followed it. Pushing up, he braced himself on his elbows and leaned over him, just looking for a few seconds before he stretched to free his husband's left arm from the silk sash, then bent his head to collect a kiss, slow and light now rather than full of their earlier urgency.

He loved kissing Guillaume - not just because it simply felt good, but because it had been their first connection, long practised during their beginnings as a couple. Amedeo didn't miss the constant state of frustration he'd been in at the time in the least, but they'd grown creative when it came to these easier demonstrations of affection, and the memory still lingered of how much of a message a simple brush of lips could convey.

They settled together, limbs comfortably tangled, not sure yet whether to drift off to sleep or stay awake a little longer. Amedeo raised his hand and slowly ran it along Guillaume's outstretched right arm, still tied to the bedpost, pausing at the sensitive skin at the inside of his elbow for a bit before moving further, twined their fingers together and leaned in to collect another kiss -

\- and was stopped when one of their phones started blaring on the nightstand.

It took him a moment to identify the ringtone as his own, his mind far too hazy with the last tendrils of pleasure to snap into quick focus.

They shared thoroughly frustrated glances, then Amedeo sat up and reached the bloody nuisance, his left hand on Guillaume's shoulder to maintain their contact.

"Yes?" he grumbled, belatedly realising that perhaps he should have taken another second to get his voice under control.

There was a laugh at the other end of the line. "Sorry if I'm interrupting something," he heard Andrea's amused drawl. "But we figured someone ought to know where Félix disappeared to."

"Félix?" Amedeo repeated, still far too distracted by the scent and sounds and simple presence of Guillaume to really concentrate on what he was hearing. He absently trailed his fingers along the lines of his husband's chest, tracing the path of muscles and ribs until his hand was caught and held firmly still. "Why are you calling _me_?"

"He's too afraid to call his wife and tell her directly. Apparently Alex has been telling her stories about what happens if someone hangs out with Harry. And your number came up before Guillaume's, and we figured he'll be somewhere nearby. Anyway, we've got Félix, and we'll return him sober..." There was a brief discussion in the background, "make that reasonably sober, tomorrow morning."

"Andrea, seriously? I don't care what you do to Félix as long as he comes back in one piece within the next few days, so just..."

Again he was interrupted, this time by Guillaume's other hand - which he hadn't untied yet, startling enough even when he knew he'd knotted the sashes with enough play for his husband to free himself if necessary - seizing his arm and dragging him down once more. He gave an appreciative sigh and snuggled closer.

"Everything all right? Amedeo?"

"Sure," he said absently, arching his back when clever fingers found that particular spot low on his hip. "But I need to tie Guillaume down better next time, he gave me the slip just now."

Guillaume's head dropped back against the pillows with a loud groan of dismay.

"Kinky," Andrea commented, so close to laughing that his words were barely comprehensible. "I'll send you a manual on knots."

The hand on his hip vanished, and a second later the mobile was plucked out of his grasp. "Bring Félix back tomorrow for breakfast," Guillaume said into it, his voice irritated and rough enough that there could be little doubt what they'd been up to. "Good _night_ , Andrea." He tossed the phone back onto the nightstand, shook his head and closed the distance between them.

***

Amedeo was waiting in the hallway - and had been for some time - when Guillaume emerged from his project meeting, accompanied by a handful of other participants.

"... and of course that makes our proposal the best by far," a slick-looking young man said, only to be interrupted by a woman on stiletto heels, fair hair in a painfully tight bun.

"Only if you completely ignore traffic and other infrastructural factors," she corrected sharply, "which our group's proposal takes into account. I have the figures here, Your Royal Highness, if you would care to take a look." She dug a folder out of the stack of paper in her arms and thrust it at Guillaume, who took it almost automatically. Two seconds later he had similar folders from four other people in his hands, with quasi-commands to read them and then agree that they were the best.

Smirking, Amedeo shook his head and pushed away from the wall he'd been leaning against. "A moment of your time, Your Royal Highness?" he called out.

Guillaume shot him a relieved look. "Of course. Ladies, Gentlemen, if you will excuse me, I'll see you for the afternoon session." Ignoring the disappointed expressions, he beat a hasty retreat to Amedeo's side. "My office?"

"Perfect." Taking the newly acquired folders from Guillaume so he only had his briefcase to deal with, Amedeo led the way past the security guard and up the stairs to the floor which held the private offices of the Grand Ducal family and their closest staff.

Once the door fell shut behind them, Guillaume turned around sharply, dropped his briefcase and wound his arms around Amedeo's neck to pull him down into a kiss, determination behind every move. Letting go of the folders in his hand, Amedeo almost automatically drew him close, overbalancing when Guillaume went along more willingly than expected. His shoulders hit the door with an audible thump, loud enough that Marie could hardly have missed it.

"So much for discretion," he murmured, then had better things to do with his mouth for a while than talk. Catching Guillaume in this sort of mood during the day was an unexpected treat and he intended to make the most of it.

"Sorry, I got distracted," Guillaume said a minute later and regretfully pulled away despite Amedeo's best efforts to keep him in place. "But it was either that or shout at the whole bunch of them for wasting so much time."

"I'll distract you anytime you want," Amedeo told him. "Just let me know whenever you've got some excess energy to work off. After all, I _am_ your prince consort, it's in the job description."

Guillaume shot him a glance wavering between need and conscientiousness.

"I have the time if you do," Amedeo added with a suggestive wink.

Another of those tempted looks, then Guillaume shook his head. "I don't, I have to look at those project proposals so we can come to a decision about them this afternoon. Everybody only showcased the advantages of their suggestion in their presentations, and the last hour they spent on ridiculing everybody else's ideas."

Amedeo made a wordless sound of agreement and bent down to collect the folders he'd dropped earlier. "Which project?" he asked, flipping one of them open only to be greeted by the familiar sight of a shiny presentation optimised and styled within an inch of its life.

"Clervaux, the cooperation with the Kraizberg Foundation for an exhibition. I told you about it, I think." Guillaume picked up his briefcase and went over to his desk to deposit it in its proper place. "Was there a reason why you were waiting for me downstairs?"

"I just wanted to get your opinion on a few matters about that economics conference tomorrow, and you _were_ supposed to have lunch with me," Amedeo reminded him. He was still working on turning it into a habit for them, mostly thwarted by Guillaume's overflowing schedule. They were getting better at it these days, though, unless project meetings like this one intruded.

Guillaume gave him an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry."

"Wasn't your fault, so I'll let you get away with it. I've asked Marie to see if she can arrange some sandwiches instead, that's going to save you time." Amedeo leafed through the report, pausing in thought as he glanced at the figures and estimates. There was something familiar about them, but he couldn't quite determine what it was. Almost too neat, but... "I'm expecting you for dinner as compensation."

"I'll try, but I cannot promise anything. It all depends on how long the afternoon session runs on until we manage to make a decision." Guillaume dropped into the chair at his desk and leaned back with a slowly exhaled breath. "We've ruled out three proposals by now, but that still leaves us with the best two."

Amedeo shook his head. "Not if the other one looks like this too," he said, waving the file in his hand. "Either it's a typo or the numbers don't add up."

Head cocked to the side, Guillaume watched him. "What do you mean?"

"Window-dressing, I think, and not even a very creative variation when it comes to making the figures look pretty." Amedeo came over to lay the folder down on Guillaume's desk so they could both look at it. "It's fine at first glance, but they've turned a few facts around."

"And you know that after two minutes." Guillaume bent forward as he read the section Amedeo pointed out to him, a frown of concentration on his face.

Amedeo snorted with amusement and leaned down to drop a kiss against his dark hair, faintly ruffled after what had to have been an irritating few hours. "You're forgetting what I used to do for a living, love. That trick they used there is one of the oldest in the book, I'd have to hand back my degree if I didn't spot that." He reached for a pen and circled the numbers that looked odd. "Fudging the central balance statements... amateurs. Everybody knows you hide that in the ancillary accounts. For that alone they don't deserve the project, it's obvious they're incompetent if they can't even manage a basic bit of cheating."

Together they worked through the rest of the proposal and found a few more suspect numbers, easy to spot once they caught on to the overall style. Multipliers, far too simple and obvious for something like this; they'd never have gotten away with it, not with Guillaume's habit of thoroughly checking these things. But it would have cost him an hour or two in an already packed afternoon, and that didn't put Amedeo into a forgiving mood.

Marie interrupted them briefly to deliver lunch, along with a stern admonishing to actually eat it this time, and the brisk command - brooking no argument and backed by the confidence that came from raising three teenagers - had Guillaume hasten to assure her that he'd not even dare think otherwise.

They looked through the other proposals while they were at it, munching on sandwiches as they read and calculated, corrected and interpreted, swapping thoughts and ideas. It was a lot more productive than Amedeo would have expected; they'd helped each other out when necessary ever since they'd moved in together, but somehow they had never quite utilised the full potential. What Amedeo lacked in hands-on experience with royal projects, Guillaume made up with fifteen years' worth of real life knowledge; in turn, Amedeo's penchant for number-crunching shored up Guillaume's politically focused perspective.

"We should do this more often," Amedeo said as he scribbled the last remarks in the margins, doing his best to keep them reasonably legible.

"Tear apart proposals together?" The printer rumbled in the corner; Guillaume went to collect the new numbers, stapled them tidily and stored them in the folder with the initial documents.

"I was going to put it in a more positive light, but... yes, essentially." Twisting around, he leaned against the back rest of his chair and watched Guillaume prepare for his afternoon work. "It certainly saves time."

Guillaume stacked the folders, then put them into his briefcase. "I won't disagree there, I thought I'd spend the rest of my break until the afternoon meeting with this."

It was simply impossible not to shoot him a suggestive look at that, and Amedeo didn't even try. "So... you've got a free hour or two?"

"Amedeo..."

"Just think of how relaxed you could be for your meetings." He paused. "On the other hand, if just two hours with these people irritate you enough that you end up shoving me against walls, tonight could be interesting, too." A smirk at Guillaume, and Amedeo lazily rolled to his feet. "Win-win for me, I'd say."

Guillaume visibly wavered. A glance at the remaining papers on his desk, then at his watch. "You're not allowed to wrinkle my suit," he said.

Amedeo winked at him. "No problem, just take it off and it will be perfectly fine."

***

"Coffee, or newspaper?" Amedeo asked a few weeks later as the two of them were companionably sitting in Philippe's kitchen in Laeken, sharing a late breakfast.

Guillaume looked up from the article he'd been reading, a confused look on his face. "I beg your pardon?"

"Did Philippe's cook not manage to make the coffee strong enough for you, or is some journalist being stupid again?" he clarified. "You're not looking happy, so it's got to be something important."

"You think I'd look unhappy about coffee?"

Grinning, Amedeo leaned over to kiss his husband's cheek; just a quick peck in case someone came in. The staff of Berg Castle were used to them and no longer batted an eyelash at finding the two of them being affectionate, but the employees at Laeken didn't have that sort of experience. And since Amedeo wanted to be invited back and be allowed to bring Guillaume along, he figured they'd better behave themselves.

"I don't _think_ , I _know_. I sent the staff warnings and descriptions in advance on how you prefer your coffee, but they might not have believed anyone could actually want to drink it like that."

Eyebrows raised, Guillaume glanced at him, then gave that little shake of his head that usually meant he'd take Amedeo's statement under consideration and reply once it made some sort of sense to him.

"So if it's not the coffee, what is it?" Amedeo asked. "You know you'll need to stop frowning soon, you're going to have to look at least remotely cheerful for the pictures later on." Which was about as much as most people ever managed on the official royal photo appointments; if you spent your life being photographed, clearing your schedule for doing nothing but posing for an afternoon wasn't an task in any way. One of those unavoidable details of a life in the public eye, and one nobody found particularly exciting. That the entire family came together in one place was the only bonus - assuming the family in question wasn't opposed to spending time together. It wasn't a problem with the Belgians, despite the tension between Amedeo and his mother, but he could think of one or two royal families where photo calls tended to be a teeth-grinding affair.

Guillaume sighed. "No, it's not the coffee," he said and pushed the open newspaper towards Amedeo. "You aren't going to like this."

Amedeo pulled the paper closer and scanned the page, stopping when he caught his own name in the headline to one of the editorials. He scanned the article, his deepening frown matching that of Guillaume, then read it again at a slower pace.

"Amedeo..."

He shook his head, not looking up. "Let me finish first," he requested, but didn't protest when Guillaume's hand settled on his shoulder.

A minute later, after a third read, he pushed the paper away towards the middle of the table and glowered at it.

"I told you that you wouldn't like it," Guillaume said quietly.

"That's an understatement." He pinched the bridge of his nose, scowled at himself when he noticed the gesture, and ran his hand through his hair instead to dispense some of the irritation he felt. "Damn it."

Guillaume's grip on his shoulder tightened minutely. "It's an editorial, not an article," he offered.

"Which means it's what someone thinks, not what facts there are. Doesn't make it better, does it?" Leaning back in his chair, Amedeo sharply exhaled. "How on Earth can they possibly think I'm doing this deliberately? As if I have any need to take away public appearances from Mama and Uncle Laurent! For Heaven's sake, can't they add up the number of people in the family and figure out that even if there were twice as many of us, we'd still not run out of opportunities for high-profile appointments? I'm doing this because Philippe asked me to, not because of some crazy need to show off!"

"It's only one comment, and like you say, not based on facts." Guillaume sounded maddeningly reasonable. "It's summer, they're out of real news to write about."

"So they're making it up as they go along. What's next, I'll try to usurp the throne after all?" He got to his feet, unable to sit still any longer. "I don't even _want_ to do this! If it were up to me I'd focus on Luxembourg and on taking on some of your stuff, you're still doing far too much anyway."

Guillaume watched him pace, but wisely kept his mouth shut.

"And where do they get the idea that I shouldn't be allowed? At first they harp on about how I'm deserting the country, and now they whine that I'm no longer Belgian enough to be allowed, just because I married you? Can't they make up their bloody minds about this? What do they want me to do, sit back and wait until someone here keels over from sheer stress before they'll allow me to help out? I'll be damned before I do that, I'm not doing that with you and I'm not going to do that with the rest of the family, can't they work that out?"

"Amedeo..."

He spun around sharply. "I'm doing my damned duty, to two countries even, and they're still insinuating that I'm cherry-picking? Just because Philippe reassigned some of the regular stuff in the Southern towns to me? I live in Luxembourg, it's not like I can spend five hours a day on the road just because some idiots think I shouldn't focus on one area! As if I wouldn't gladly hand it all over to Mama if she actually wanted any of these appearances! Can't they see that I'm not doing this because I'm, I'm... " He gestured towards the paper on the table. "What did they say, that I envy the others for their attention? Who wants attention! Nobody in their right mind is doing this for the _attention_! What do they think, that I feel neglected because the papers aren't reporting on my every move? For Heaven's sake, how stupid are they? Santo cielo!" He added a whole string of Italian profanities, enough that both his grandmothers would have blistered his ears for that (while muttering the same curses under their breath, most likely). It didn't do much to make him feel any better about the whole issue, though.

He resumed his pacing, absently registering that Guillaume got up as well.

"Amedeo."

"I don't understand why they can't see the facts. And where do they get this idea from anyway? Nobody's complained about it so far! You can bet Philippe wouldn't keep on drafting me for these things if they'd been getting any negative feedback about me, he can't afford to! For that matter, I can't afford to, not if I want to actually help out rather than stand by and watch as everybody else runs themselves ragged. Don't those damned journalists ever do the math?"

Guillaume watched him pace another round. Then, when Amedeo came past him again, he reached out and caught him by the arm. "Amedeo," he said once more, sharply enough this time to make him stop in his tracks.

"What?" he challenged. "Are you going to tell me too that I shouldn't do what I'm doing? After all I'm poaching your appointments, never mind that it's for your own good." He took a step backwards, out of Guillaume's immediate reach. "Is that what I am supposed to do? Look on, keep my mouth shut and twiddle my thumbs while you run yourself into the ground?"

Blinking, Guillaume just stared at him for a second. "What's _that_ got to do with it?" he demanded to know. "I think you're doing enough, more than enough if you ask me."

Amedeo glared at him. "Great. Wonderful. Shall I start placing bets on how long you'll make it?"

"I _have_ slowed down, in case you haven't noticed," Guillaume said acerbically. "But I can see how you could have missed that, you've been doing half again as much as I did the past weeks, what with all the extra stuff in Belgium. Not to mention the projects you had Marie shuffle from my list to yours without even mentioning it."

"Because your schedule was so stuffed again! Of course I'll do more in that case, so you don't have to handle it all by yourself!"

"Did I ask you to do that?"

"No, and that's exactly the problem!" Amedeo almost shouted. "Damn it, Guillaume, I'm supposed to be supporting you in this, I can't do that if you won't let me! Why is it all right for you to run yourself ragged but not for me?"

"I'm hardly doing it on purpose, am I?"

Amedeo threw him a dark look. "You could have fooled me."

Guillaume cocked his head. "And what's that supposed to mean?" he asked, arms folded tightly in front of his chest.

"That it apparently doesn't take all that long for you to forget that you promised to ease up," Amedeo said sharply. "I don't expect you've had time to notice, but you're practically falling over whenever you've got a day off. Not that it happens all that often, mind."

"I took the weekend off," Guillaume insisted. "And I'd be enjoying the time a lot more if you weren't insisting on repeating this argument yet again. What more do you want me to do?"

Amedeo threw up his arms in frustration. "I don't _know_! All I know is that if I let you keep this up, it's not going to end well. And that scares me, Guillaume, it scares me more than you probably want to believe. I don't care how, but you can't continue like this. Talk to your father, ask Félix to lend a hand, anything. There must be alternatives if you don't want me to help, but something's got to change."

"What do you..." Guillaume gave him an odd look, then frowned at him. "Don't tell me you're still going on about not being up to par. You don't actually believe that idiotic bit of scribbling in the paper, do you?"

Amedeo suddenly found it difficult to meet his eyes. "It's not that hard to notice that you don't want to hand anything over to me," he murmured.

"Because you're overworked as it is! Between the two of them, Paps and Philippe have got you on what's practically a full-time schedule and you keep snatching up extra duties. Of course I'm not going to ask you anything more." Guillaume paused and exhaled audibly. "It's got nothing to do with whether I think you can do it. For the record, I don't have any doubts about that, and neither does anyone else, a few hack writers for the gutter press aside."

They looked at each other. After a minute, Amedeo offered a tentative smile.

"We're idiots?" he suggested somewhat sheepishly, ducking his head.

"Speak for yourself," Guillaume grumbled. "I can't believe you'd bother to listen to that sort of nonsense. You really ought to know better by now."

"I don't..." He trailed off, not quite certain how to put it. He knew, but at the same time he also knew that there still was room for improvement if he just pushed himself a little further. "I meant what I said, you know? About being scared of what this is doing to you. I wouldn't keep pushing otherwise, it's not like I don't know that it irritates you."

"That's putting it mildly," Guillaume said, sighing. "I've promised you that I'll cut back, and I'm not reneging on it. But I can't do it within a week, or even a month. Félix is going to take on a share of my duties come autumn, so that's going to help already. And if you really are determined to get your share as well, then talk to Philippe about your Belgian workload."

"My Belgian workload is fine," Amedeo protested. And it was, most of the time, it had just increased over the past weeks because Laurent had been off duty and Philippe had had to handle several international trips.

Guillaume gave him a flat look. "And yet you go on giving me a hard time," he said. "Cut back, or you aren't getting anything from my list."

Amedeo frowned at that. It had taken him long enough to talk Marie into co-operation on transferring whole appointments to him rather than letting him just share them with Guillaume, he wasn't going to give up that advantage just because he'd had a full schedule. He knew when it was too much, after all. "You know Philippe's short-handed as well now that Grandfather isn't traveling much anymore."

The maddeningly reasonable tone was back in Guillaume's voice. "Everyone's short-handed these days. I'm not going to tell you where to lay your loyalties, Amedeo, but if the Belgian court really is that pressed for royals, then maybe it's time they talked to your siblings to check whether any of them are interested."

He knew the answer to that, of course; both his adult sisters were doing their best to avoid anything to do with official appearances for the sake of living their own lives, something nobody could blame them for. That left Joachim, who at least didn't look thoroughly unhappy anymore every time he got dragged out into the limelight, but who was far from eager and only did it out of familial duty. His siblings simply were far too sensible to volunteer for the job, and Amedeo could hardly hold it against them. He could just wish it weren't making his own life as firstborn and technical heir more complicated.

Birthduty, as Wills had once succinctly put it, simply sucked sometimes.

"I don't like this," he muttered.

A smile tugged at the corner of Guillaume's mouth. "Compromise," he said. "I give you some of my appointments if you in turn give some of yours to Philippe and let him figure out what to do about them. You did marry the heir to another throne, in the past that usually meant you'd belong to me now."

Despite the serious topic, Amedeo quirked an amused eyebrow. "Declaring ownership, are you?"

"I've got signed and sealed documents that say you're mine," Guillaume told him. "Witnessed, even. You're not getting out of it."

"As if I wanted to." Amedeo took a step forward, paused minutely to gauge Guillaume's reaction, then closed the last bit of distance between them. "Besides, the opposite is true as well," he said, sliding his arms around Guillaume's waist to draw him in for a hug. "Mine," he murmured into his ear.

"Indisputably," Guillaume agreed, completing the embrace and leaning against him, head comfortably rested against his shoulder.

They'd probably not had this discussion for the last time, Amedeo knew. But for once he had the feeling that they were actually getting somewhere and not only irritating each other with conflicting ideas and points of view. There'd have to be compromises, and he didn't much like the direction he could see them taking, but anything had to be better than the current status quo that did nothing but hurt both of them.

He turned his head to brush his lips gently against Guillaume's temple in almost-but-not-quite-apology. "We'll talk about it at home?" he suggested.

Guillaume hummed wordlessly in agreement. "We should," he said. "I'm not particularly eager to have this argument with you every few weeks. It's not getting us anywhere, for one thing."

"Aside from into bed for spectacular make-up sex," Amedeo couldn't help adding, and yelped when Guillaume bit the underside of his jaw.

"Behave. We're not at home and this isn't exactly the most private location."

Amedeo had to concede that point, though not after casting a speculative glance at the kitchen table that earned him another nip. "Reading minds now, are you?" he asked, raising his hand to rub the stinging spot.

"I know you too well," Guillaume told him matter-of-factly. "And no, we're not going to do that here either."

Amedeo pulled back enough to blink at him innocently. "I wasn't even thinking about anything in particular."

"You were going to."

"Clairvoyant as well, are you?" Amedeo teased before turning more serious again. He met Guillaume's eyes, holding his gaze for a moment. "Are we all right?" he asked quietly.

It was a certainty he needed; they were getting better at fighting and, more importantly, at handling the aftermath, but it still left him unsettled for a while every time, no matter the outcome or even the reason why they'd clashed. Sometimes, like now, it was simply necessary so they wouldn't keep on dancing around an issue, and he knew that it was worth it if it brought even small changes to the situation. But on the whole he'd much rather be able to avoid it altogether.

Guillaume sighed softly, then nodded. "We are all right," he confirmed. "But we do need to come to a conclusion about this once and for all."

"You won't get any disagreement from me on that." Though they were guaranteed to have different ideas on how to settle it, that much was for certain, but it was a concern for another day. Another look passed between them, open and reassuring, and Amedeo couldn't have said who moved first to close the distance. "I need you to take care of yourself," he whispered, leaning his forehead lightly against Guillaume's.

They settled together into their embrace as they exchanged quiet kisses, with no particular intentions behind them beyond affirmation. For one thing, Amedeo wasn't in the mood to try for anything more, and he could tell that neither was Guillaume. And besides, his uncle's kitchen wasn't the place for anything overly demonstrative, not with a quartet of little cousins running around who'd only be asking embarrassing questions if they saw him and Guillaume be affectionate. Amedeo was still working on getting over last month's run-in with Mathilde, who'd told him that his youngest cousin now thought he and Guillaume would eventually manage to cook up a pregnancy together, and that she held him responsible for that misconception and expected him to clear it up.

His husband's arms around him tightened and Amedeo snuggled closer, turning his head to bury his face against Guillaume's dark hair. Different shampoo, he noted absently, inwardly amused at himself for noticing a minute detail like that. Some sound must have escaped him, because Guillaume made a wordless noise of inquiry.

"Nothing specific, I'm just realising I'm absolutely besotted with you," Amedeo murmured.

He felt Guillaume chuckle in response almost before he heard it. "Besotted?"

"Besotted," Amedeo confirmed, a crooked smile on his face. "No matter how irritating you can be." He pressed another almost-apology kiss to Guillaume's temple to take the sting out of the comment. "When did I last tell you that I love you?"

The chuckle was more audible this time. "This morning, when I told you that we could sleep in for once," Guillaume said, leaning back a fraction to affectionately rub his nose against Amedeo's. "You seemed a little distracted at the time, though."

"You were naked, what do you expect?" Amedeo wanted to know as he drew Guillaume close, his hands settling low against his husband's back. "Anyway... I love you. Just in case you didn't know that already."

"I may have had my suspicions, I admit," Guillaume told him, unable to completely hide his smile, reasonably relaxed and at ease for once. It was how Amedeo wanted to always see him, even though he knew that was simply impossible. But he couldn't shake off the nagging concerns over Guillaume's well-being, not when Guillaume himself paid them so little heed.

Another trip to England might be in order, he thought as they shared another kiss. Wills usually managed to talk some sense into that stubborn head. Why that was the case, Amedeo had never been able to find out, but fact was that Guillaume tended to listen when Wills was the one who growled at him. And as long as it worked, Amedeo wasn't going to question it, gift horses and all that.

"Only suspicions? I'll have to be more demonstrative in that case." A quick nuzzle at Guillaume's ear to the sensitive spot Amedeo knew to be guaranteed to draw out a contented grumble, then he turned serious once more. "I need you to take care of yourself, love. I don't know what I'd do without you, and I really don't want to have to find out."

He felt Guillaume turn still in his arms, and knew he was running the risk of pushing too far again, too soon. But this mattered, _Guillaume_ mattered, and the insinuations in the paper and their subsequent argument had unsettled him enough that he needed some sort of acknowledgment of his concerns.

A quiet sigh, then another, followed by a peck to his cheek. "You won't have to. Stop worrying."

Not quite what he'd hoped for, but probably the best he would get today: acceptance that they needed to solve this, and awareness, at least to some degree, that it did more than just bother him how these matters stood at the moment. Amedeo breathed his own sigh and tried his best to arrange himself with the situation while they held on to each other.

He'd just managed to regain his inner balance enough to reliably last for the rest of the day when a quietly cleared throat somewhere behind him almost made him jump.

"Amedeo? I don't mean to interrupt, but you need to get ready, the photographers are worried about the light and want to start."

He froze up and felt Guillaume tense in response at the unexpected interruption.

His mother. Of all the people to come and get them... with anyone else, Amedeo wouldn't have thought twice about being caught in the middle of some reassuring snuggling with his husband; it wasn't as if they were getting up to anything untoward, after all. But his mother... that was a different matter altogether, especially when he could only begin to guess how long she'd been there and waited for their attention while they'd been distracted.

Carefully he disentangled himself from Guillaume, mindful not to make it look as though they were scrambling apart because she'd caught them at something. "Is there ever a year when they don't worry about the light?" he asked faux-casually as he straightened, his hand finding Guillaume's as a reassuring point of contact. Let her think of that what she wanted.

They were given a thorough once-over, and again he wondered how much she'd seen. It was impossible to read anything from her face; progress, in a way, since she hadn't bothered to hide her disapproval the last few times she'd met them. After a second, though, a frown appeared on her face, and his heart sank in expectation of another maternal berating.

"Blue? Amedeo, how often do you need to hear that this colour doesn't suit you in any way? You aren't going to wear that tie, are you?"

Amedeo blinked, scrambling to catch up to the unexpected direction this talk was taking. "Ah... no?" he guessed.

Tilting her head, his mother appraised him once more. "Go find one of the maids, she'll give you one of Philippe's if you haven't brought anything sensible," she ordered, in the same tone of voice she'd used for the last almost three decades when it came to these issues. "Dark red if you can, and for Heaven's sake stay away from those blue ones. Give them to Guillaume, he can wear them."

Again he blinked. If he wasn't mistaken, it was the first time she'd actually said Guillaume's name since he'd told her about their relationship close to two years ago.

She made a shooing motion with her hand. "Well, go on, don't keep us waiting."

He cast a wary glance at Guillaume, a wordless invitation to come along in his eyes. They'd known that his mother would be here, of course, but Amedeo hadn't expected her to let herself end up in a situation where she'd be alone with the two of them. It _could_ be intentional, and in that case might be a positive sign, but on the whole he suspected it was coincidence and he didn't know what to make of it.

Guillaume glanced at her, back at Amedeo, then released his hand and gave him a gentle shove. "I've got a spare one in my suitcase that should match," he offered. "Go and get it, we'll wait here for you."

The commanding tone sent him out of the room and halfway up the stairs before he realised that he'd just left Guillaume alone with his mother. Not that he feared that she'd do anything harmful to him, but the mere thought of his husband left to fend for himself when faced with such a formidable opponent made him hesitate on the second floor landing for a second, wavering whether he ought to go back. On the other hand, if there was one thing Guillaume was good at, it was being very properly and politely charming to people so they'd do what he wanted. Usually the goals were cooperation agreements and trade treaties, but the same principles applied when faced with your mother-in-law. Guillaume would be fine, he had to trust him that much.

Amedeo hesitated another moment, then sped up. He found the new tie and had it knotted in record time, and was on the way back downstairs after the barest glance into the nearest mirror to check that he didn't look too rumpled. It wasn't a real concern; they'd gotten good at sharing the occasional intimate moment without ruining a prim and proper appearance as a result of shared lunch breaks in private and quiet moments snatched here and there during busy days.

"Better," his mother remarked when he rushed around the corner and half-skidded to a stop a few steps away from her. Guillaume, he noted with some relief, looked fine, so whatever they'd done in the two or three minutes while he'd been gone hadn't left any permanent damage.

As if she would, he told himself firmly. His mother might not see eye to eye with him where his choices in life were concerned, but he knew that she was acting with what she thought were his best interests in mind. An advantage compared to the situation Wills was in, what with the Prince of Wales actively sniping at his son's marriage. That, Amedeo knew, wasn't something he needed to worry about. No double-edged comments to the press, no displeased looks - even at the wedding she'd managed to keep it off camera. She hadn't held back her disapproval, but she'd only shown it in private and even made positive or at least neutral comments to the press when she'd been questioned about the matter.

"Shall we go?" he asked, casually moving closer to Guillaume again.

His mother reached out to brush a speck of lint off his shoulder, another unexpected gesture. Amedeo held still, inwardly wondering what was going on. "The photographers should be setting up already," she said. A step back, a critical look followed by a decisive nod, then she turned and headed for the door.

Amedeo cast Guillaume a puzzled look as they followed but nothing was forthcoming, so he had to make the first move. "Everything all right?" he asked under his breath.

Guillaume nodded quickly. "We spoke a little. I'm supposed to pass her greetings to my parents."

That was a bit of news startling enough to make Amedeo stumble down the low step by the door, gravel crunching under his shoes as he caught his balance again. A verbal gesture towards Aunt María Teresa and Uncle Henri? Yet another first. This was becoming downright spooky.

His mother slowed down in front of them so they could catch up, and it was almost automatic to let her walk in the middle, ingrained lessons on manners and protocol taking over. "Guillaume says you have journalists coming after you," she said with a glance at him.

Amedeo shrugged his shoulders. "I guess that can't be helped," he tried, still a little stunned at hearing her refer to his husband in a downright casual fashion.

The look she gave him was far too knowing. "Not if you want to use them for your messages as well, unfortunately," she said. "Still, there are limits to what you should have to accept."

"I'm not exactly overjoyed. And I'm going to have to see Uncle Philippe about some of the issues this stirs up, but other than that I don't think I can do much about it." That sounded more frustrated than he'd intended to, and he caught a brief glance from Guillaume, part concern and part commiseration.

They kept up the small talk for the rest of the walk and the longer it went on, the more puzzled Amedeo became. He wanted this to continue, this attempt at acceptance she was making. It was obvious that she wasn't entirely certain yet how to handle the two of them, but for the first time, she was not being either icily polite or pretending to ignore Guillaume. In fact, some of the comments and questions were actually coming across as interested and not just about keeping up the conversation.

He wasn't certain what to think of this and whether he could allow himself to dare hope that this would go on. It seemed almost too good to be true.

"Did you say anything to Mama?" he asked Philippe when he had a chance to catch his uncle in private in-between photo shoots. The family had been assembled around the traditional bench under the sycamore tree, in the same procedure as every year, and they were just cycling through individual portraits at the moment. It was Joachim's turn right now and he looked almost as if he were facing a shooting squad, the way he was leaning against the tree trunk; yet another indicator that royal attention didn't sit too well with him.

Philippe only shrugged and straightened out his tie. "Nothing I haven't been saying to her every few weeks ever since you dropped that bit of news on us."

Perhaps the persistence had worn her down? Amedeo had never known her to easily change her mind just because someone else insisted on something, but there was a first time for everything. "Thank you for that," he said. "I know it wasn't something you had to do..."

"No, it certainly wasn't," Philippe agreed. "Refereeing family squabbles? I'll keep to my own children from now on when it comes to that for the next ten years or so. You're on your own until our quartet makes it through their teenage years, I suspect I won't have the capacity to deal with anything else. So you'd better not make it necessary."

"It's not like I'm doing it on purpose," Amedeo said, then turned more serious again. "But really, thank you. Guillaume and I really appreciate what you've been doing for us."

Philippe waved off. "You two can pay me back by handling your godchildren whenever they get up to some sort of hormonal insanity," he said. "There are bound to be plenty of opportunities."

They regrouped for another round of photos, siblings this time. Amedeo could see Guillaume watching him from the side lines as he dutifully posed with his brother and sisters, the annual game of hidden gestures and commentary in full swing.

"Remember that you owe me a favour for being the nice and supportive sister?" Maria Laura murmured without moving her lips, quiet enough so only he and Joachim, on each side of her, would hear.

"Yes?" Amedeo cautiously murmured back, and heard a slightly concerned noise from their brother.

Maria Laura smiled through the next round of flashes. "I'm coming collecting," she said. "Next week I'm introducing Robert to Mama and Papa. So you better pay me back for being helpful when you came out."

They were reshuffled before he could say anything in reaction (such as "who on Earth is Robert?"), but judging by the surprised look in Joachim's eyes, at least he wasn't the only one who'd been out of the loop. Their sisters on the other hand, Amedeo noted, didn't look at all startled when they received similar murmurs. Female conspiracy in action, evidently.

Another round of pictures, first together, then in various pairs and trios - at least they didn't go through all the potential combinations of five siblings, or it would have taken days to get it done - then it was time for the group pictures with their parents. And along with that, an unexpected problem.

"What do you mean, he's not on the list?" Amedeo demanded to know. "He's my husband, of course he's going to be in the family pictures."

The photographer didn't quite shrug as he fiddled with his camera. "I'm sorry, Sir, but he isn't part of the Royal Family so there is no point in us including him. If you want, we can of course take some photos for private use, but I don't have him on our schedule for the official photos."

"Not part - what's that got to do with it? No, he isn't part of the Belgian Royal Family. But he is part of _my_ family, so why shouldn't he be there?" They'd both been invited for the weekend, and Amedeo hadn't even thought twice about whether that included the photo session. Guillaume was his husband, of course they would appear together. But it seemed that this bit of logic wasn't shared by everyone, never mind that it shouldn't require any thought.

From where the others were already waiting for things to move on, his mother looked over, frowned, said something to his father, then got up from her seat on the bench. Guillaume made to follow her, but she waved him back.

"Is there a problem?" she asked, coming to stand by Amedeo's side.

"A mere misunderstanding," the photographer assured her. One last look through the viewfinder, then he seemed satisfied with whatever he'd achieved.

Eyebrows raised, Amedeo turned towards her. "Apparently Guillaume isn't welcome," he said sharply. "Not on the official list of people to be photographed on the family pictures, he says."

It struck too close, especially after the earlier anger about that idiotic bit of newspaper dribble. So what if they weren't a clear-cut couple who fit neatly into everyone's pre-determined categories? So what if Amedeo was married to the Luxembourgian heir and still took his duties to Belgium seriously at the same time? So what if they didn't, _couldn't_ adhere to the traditional rules of transferring your allegiance to another house by marriage even if they'd wanted to?

So _what_?

"He'll simply have to be included on the list in that case," Amedeo's mother said. "Surely that is not a problem."

The photographer shook his head. "I'm sorry, Madam, but I'm not supposed to do that."

"Says who?" she asked in a tone Amedeo recognised all to easily. It made him want to scramble for cover.

By now the man was starting to look decidedly uncomfortable. "We wouldn't be able to sell them on, so the agency doesn't want them," he said.

"In that case there won't be any pictures for you," Amedeo's mother said matter-of-factly. "We've been informed that we are expected to pose for family pictures. The Hereditary Grand Duke is family, so either he's included or there won't be a picture at all. It is up to you."

Amedeo could only stare at her, and out of the corner of his eye saw the photographer do the same, albeit probably for other reasons. His mother, standing up for him and Guillaume? To call that unexpected would be a vast understatement. But here she was, verbally gutting a man who'd dared to put an obstacle in their way.

"I'll have to call the agency," the photographer eventually murmured, fishing for his cell phone.

She nodded. "You do that," she allowed graciously. "We'll be getting ready in the meantime."

The pictures were taken, of course, with Guillaume at Amedeo's right side behind the bench, their hands on the back rest together as they held still. It had never before been this easy to smile for a picture.

Single portraits, couple portraits - this time they were included without argument - and the picture of the entire family as the final act. By then even the older children were clearly losing their patience, and Uncle Laurent, too, had begun to make crankier comments with every minute. There might be plenty of royals who loved taking snapshots or even more serious photographic art but, with a few exceptions, nobody liked being the subject of the camera lens. Therefore, once the photographers put down the cameras and announced that they were done, the group practically scattered in a strategic retreat.

Amedeo exchanged a few more words with his grandparents, then left them to deal with their younger grandchildren and went to hunt down his mother. Gift horses be damned, he needed to know whether this was a momentary hallucination or if she'd truly changed her mind about them.

He spotted her down by the pond with Laetitia, watching the carp in the water who were hovering just beneath the surface, hopeful that food would be tossed at them in the near future.

"Go play with your cousins for a moment," his mother told his sister when they saw him. They watched her rush along the gravel path to collect Elisabeth, and a second later the two girls were caught up in rapid chatter already.

Amedeo took a deep breath and met his mother's eyes. "Thank you," he said, with all the gratitude he felt. He still wasn't sure what to think about it, whether to be happy or hopeful or worried that it might be over again already.

She held his gaze, then nodded. "What a silly little man," she commented. "As if we are there for them to command so they can get exactly what they want. You can bet that if we hadn't insisted, there would be some acid comments tomorrow in the papers about Guillaume not being here."

He cocked his head. "Is that why you..." Supported us, helped us, he wasn't certain what exactly to call it.

"I could hardly let him get you into trouble, could I?" she said, but then waved dismissively as though she knew that wasn't what he was asking. One of the fish interpreted the gesture as food being thrown and launched itself at the water surface with a loud splash of its tail in the attempt to snatch the imaginary morsel. "You know that I spent a few days in London last month?"

Amedeo frowned at the seeming non-sequitur. "Papa mentioned it, yes. A visit to Joachim and Luisa, was it?"

"Partly, yes." Another fish splashed in the water, and his mother looked towards it before returning her attention to him. "I also met the Prince of Wales and the Duchess of Cornwall for an informal dinner."

That bit of news was something to make Amedeo inwardly cringe. He'd only had one semi-official encounter with Charles so far, and that had been enough for him to go to great lengths to avoid any future meetings, a sentiment Guillaume shared. William's father was not the most pleasant company when faced with someone who'd earned his disapproval in some way, even if it was just a matter of sharing his son's choices in life. "I hope you had a pleasant evening," he offered.

His mother huffed derisively. "Pleasant isn't what I'd call it, he spent the entire time bad-mouthing William. The man needs to get over himself, he really does. And the worst was that he continuously insinuated that he and I are suffering the same tragic fate and that we should coordinate our efforts at getting our wayward sons back in line."

A cold shiver ran down Amedeo's spine at that. "Wayward son?" he tried with an amused smile he didn't feel in the least.

"Apparently." She looked him in the eye, and he had to fight the urge to turn away for fear of what she might say. "Wayward or not, you _are_ are my son. I want you to be happy in life, even if I can't approve of all your choices. Your relationship with Guillaume... you are making your life so much harder than it has to be, I didn't want you to throw it all away for a mere momentary infatuation."

Please, not again. "Mama..."

She raised a hand, and he fell silent. "After two years, it's probably safe to say that you're over any hormone-driven notions," she said.

"Five," he corrected quietly, and after receiving a confused look, added, "five years. We got over the hormone-driven part sometime in 2011 already."

His mother sighed. "And yet you never said something. But never mind, it is done now, and you two seem..." She paused, gestured vaguely, "Content, together. It is not what I expected, I feared you'd only hurt yourself with this."

Amedeo attempted a smile. "I love him, Mama, and he loves me in turn, it's that simple," he said, and for the first time had some hope that she'd believe it. "I know we aren't traditional and that we're breaking all sorts of unspoken rules, but it's what works for us, so I can't regret it."

Times were changing anyway; Wills and Carl were leading the way in England, and the next generation of European kings and queens had already shown their support or, at least, their tacit approval of these unconventional arrangements. Even the press had quieted down; this morning's article, irritating as it was, had not made any mention of the fact that Amedeo had a husband rather than a wife. After some of the nastier outcroppings over the past year and a half since their initial press conference, it was a heartening sign of progress.

"You've persevered, I'll honour that," his mother told him. "I know you wanted my support, Amedeo, but I couldn't give that, not when I still thought you'd change your mind and choose a better path. But if there's one thing I'd never have done, it's actively put obstacles in your way."

He could have argued that point based on some of her actions, but he kept quiet. This wasn't the moment for arguing, not when he was beginning to feel cautious optimism that she was finally getting it. After all this time, he'd almost given up on it, and to hear this now...

"I know," he said. "But today, that was a matter of actually removing an obstacle for us." And a lot more than he'd ever expected from her.

She waved dismissively. "As I said, Charles did his best to influence me. I daresay he didn't want me to jump in this direction, though." She shook her head in displeasure, her carefully coiffed hair beginning to work free. "He believes that if he expresses concern over the difficulties for William and Carl Philip often enough, the press will amplify it. Can you imagine that? You would think that he, of all people, would know not to play with fire. His suggestion was that I ought to do the same over you and Guillaume and mention that I see trouble in England already and worry that the same might happen to you."

Amedeo could only stare at her, lost for words. Suddenly, knowing that his mother had private objections to his relationship with Guillaume paled in comparison to what was happening on the other side of the Channel.

"If he doesn't approve of William's choices, that's one thing," his mother continued. "But it's quite another if he plots ways to separate them, and actually snipes at them through the press. What an unpleasant man, as if I'd ever ally with someone like that. William's happiness seems to be the last thing on his mind. To think that they once intended for me to marry him..." She wrinkled her nose at the thought.

"William and I as brothers? Now that would have been an odd turn of events," Amedeo commented. And a good thing it had never worked out like that; different choices, different outcomes, and he quite liked where they'd all ended up. "How bad is it with the Prince of Wales? Do you think he will actually follow through with these ideas?"

His mother looked at him pensively. "Well, _I_ have never contemplated mentioning it to the press whenever I notice that you and Guillaume must have had a fight. Like earlier today, though you seem to have sorted it out."

Amedeo did his best not to blink at this taste of maternal observation skills. She could only have caught the very end of it, if that, but apparently it had been enough.

"If you are close enough to William for this, you may want to mention it to him that Charles is still hoping for a divorce there, and quite willing to take steps to move it along." His mother once again shook her head. "The thought alone is distasteful."

"So I don't have to worry that you will tell me about imaginary affairs of Guillaume, or anything like that?" Amedeo asked, still not entirely certain whether to believe his luck. It wasn't even that he thought she'd ever have stooped so low, but to hear her disapprove of the Prince of Wales like this was more than just unexpected.

She shot him an odd look. "Of course not. Although... you did talk to him about his relationship to Princess Theodora before you married him, didn't you?"

For a few seconds he managed to maintain a reasonably serious expression, then he couldn't keep the laughter from bubbling up anymore. It hadn't even occurred to him that anyone could still be taking that little game seriously, not when even Queen Anne-Marie had figured it out at their wedding despite all her wishful thinking.

"There was no relationship," he managed between desperate gasps of air, struggling to stop laughing in light of her faintly confused mien. "Theodora needed a decoy, Guillaume needed someone to make sure he actually ate lunch on occasion. That's all there ever was. He'd never survive even five minutes in a relationship with her, even if he wanted to."

Eyes narrowed, his mother studied his face. "Are you certain?" she asked. "I wouldn't want to see you betrayed because of some Greek pretend princess."

Amedeo arched an eyebrow. "By that standard I'm a pretend archduke," he said mildly. "Believe me, Guillaume has no use whatsoever for Theodora, or any other women, beyond pleasant dinner conversation." He thought he'd put it harmlessly enough, but he still saw the hint of a blush creep into his mother's cheeks. "If he and I weren't planning on being faithful, marrying each other would have been a stupid move, don't you think so? It's not like we're making our lives any easier."

"The thought had occurred to me," his mother said. "So you are not in competition with any blond princesses?"

"No blond princesses," Amedeo assured her with a smirk. "Though Mette-Marit insists on stealing him as her dinner companion whenever we encounter her somewhere, and I'm not sure what Haakon thinks about ending up with me for an escort all the time."

"He should consider himself honoured," his mother said in her best interpretation of royal haughtiness, then gave him a smile that was a lot warmer than anything he'd received from her for a long time. "You are behaving yourself, I hope."

Amedeo blinked at her innocently. "Have I ever not behaved myself?"

She laughed at that, a genuine sound of amusement he'd missed more than he'd realised. "Just make certain that I don't have to listen to any complaints."

"I'll have them direct all those to Guillaume," he promised. "You have nothing to worry about."

Her head tilted, she looked at him. "Don't I?" she asked, and he knew she wasn't talking about his manners anymore.

"You don't," he said quietly and for the first time he had the feeling that he was getting through to her.

***

As royal weddings went, this one had been long overdue.

"Who'd have thought that she'd finally manage to drag him to the altar?" Amedeo mused as he contemplated his almost-empty Mai Tai and the benefits of reasonable sobriety versus another drink.

To his left, Carl chuckled as they watched the wedding guests down in the inner courtyard of the Prince's Palace from their vantage point under the open arcades of the upper level. "With Tatiana, all it would take to make _me_ walk down the aisle with her is one of those snapped commands in that special tone of voice she can manage. And I'm married already, mind."

"And don't you forget it," Wills added from his other side. "I'm not sharing you, not even with Tatiana."

"Not even if she asks nicely?" Carl wanted to know. "Purely hypothetically speaking, of course."

William's response was succinct and to the point; a quick grab and he had his husband tucked against his side, an arm firmly around him. Amedeo prudently took a step to the side, just in case Wills decided to get possessively growly. "Not even hypothetically."

Carl heaved a sigh. "What a pity," he said, smiling when that was enough to tease Wills into a quick kiss that seemed part demonstration, part means to shut him up.

"What did I miss?" Guillaume asked, coming up the curving flight of marble stairs to rejoin them.

Amedeo shrugged and took another step to the side to make room for him in their little circle. "Nothing important, just the answer to the question whether Andrea and Tatiana will be allowed to borrow Carl for a few nights of debauchery as a wedding present."

It was a clear sign of just how far Guillaume had come when he barely batted an eye at that statement. He merely gave Carl a pensive look, glanced in the direction of the thickest crowd where the merrily wedded couple presumably was right now, and shrugged. "I wouldn't recommend it," he said. "Those two would eat you alive."

The comment was greeted by three pairs of wide eyes. Guillaume returned the startled looks, a little smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he leaned against the stone banister.

"What?" he asked.

With a quick, startled shake of his head, William was the first to recover. "A joke? From you?"

Guillaume arched an eyebrow. "I do have a sense of humour."

"Could have fooled me," Carl muttered, with just enough exaggerated disbelief to his voice.

"Just for that, I'm not going to tell you what I found out," Guillaume said loftily and sipped at his wine. "Has anyone said something about the seating order at dinner yet?"

"You get Mette-Marit, like always," Wills told him, "I get your husband, and Carl gets Haakon. Andrea apparently decided not to throw in random women as decoys this time. So what's that you aren't going to talk about?"

Guillaume only shook his head. "You don't seriously think I'm going to fall for that, do you?"

"It was worth a try. Amedeo, go get it out of him."

Amedeo blinked at the command. "Any suggestions how?"

"You've been married for two years and you still have to ask?" Wills shook his head with stern disapproval. "What do you two do at night, play Monopoly? You sleep in the same bed with him, I'm sure you can think of something. Be creative, and then meet us for breakfast so you can share the news."

The royal rumour network in action, as always. Before he'd attended these events with Guillaume, Amedeo had always thought that the back-benchers were the ones who paid the most attention to all the choice bits of news regarding the members of the royal circus, but it hadn't taken him more than a few events as Guillaume's official companion to find out that the heirs were far worse. Gossip-addicted bunch, the lot of them, though after a handful of boring evenings where he'd shared no area of interest whatsoever with his assigned dinner partner, Amedeo understood the need to have _something_ to talk about.

"Any chance I can bribe you, love?" he asked Guillaume, a smirk on his face. "Surely you don't want me to resort to torture... though we _did_ pack the handcuffs, remember?"

He heard Carl make a strangled nose that might have been laughter or a choke of desperation. Wills muttered something indiscernible, then said in a louder tone, "Guillaume, spill it. Or I'll abscond with your husband during dinner."

"What would you want with him?" Guillaume asked, subconsciously taking a half-step forward to put himself protectively between Amedeo and William. Amedeo watched the move, then flirtatiously batted his eyelashes at Wills. To the side, Carl almost cracked up.

"I'm sure I can think of something," Wills told him. "Talk."

Guillaume looked indignant, though his posture softened when Amedeo slid his arms around him from behind, chin coming to rest on his shoulder. "I must protest these threats."

William nodded dismissively. "Noted. So?"

"Have any of you seen our favourite Greco-Danish princess yet?" Guillaume asked and, when they all shook their heads, continued, "Well, if you do, you will notice that she made use of the plus one in her invitation."

Carl looked surprised. "Who did she bring?"

Guillaume just smiled nonchalantly. "I couldn't see for sure, she was snogging the living daylights out of the poor man at the time."

"Finally got over you, did she?" William said, his sardonic tone not entirely in synch with the surprise in his eyes. "Took her long enough."

"It's not that easy, finding a man brave enough to take up with her," Amedeo commented. So they'd finally stop having fictional arguments over him poaching her fictional boyfriend and ruining her fictional relationship... almost a shame, that had always been fun and a perfect way to confuse the newcomers to the royal circle. He was fairly sure that Andrea's aunt-by-marriage still thought Theodora had scared Guillaume badly enough to chase him directly into Amedeo's arms and make him swear off women forever.

"Still, do any of you have an idea who he could be?" Carl asked. "It's not like just anyone should be allowed to take up with her."

Amedeo raised an eyebrow. "And do you want to be the one to tell her that we deemed her new boy toy unacceptable?"

"Ah... when you put it like that... she's a mature, clever woman, I'm sure she's made a wise decision."

"And besides she's perfectly capable of taking care of herself," William added, a sentiment with which Amedeo wholeheartedly agreed. Growing up in that sort of family certainly wasn't for the faint of heart, and while Theodora was friendly most of the time, he had no doubt that Guillaume's occasional assessment of her as a valkyrie wasn't far off. She certainly had the build for it, up to and including all the proper curves to fill out the armour.

Which really wasn't something he should be even thinking about since she'd be only too happy to behead him for that kind of statement, and then would hand his head to Guillaume on a platter. And rightly so, no matter that the imagery of her in Wagnerian opera get-up was far too easy to conjure.

"Andrea probably knows who the guy is," William said, looking around for the groom.

Guillaume shot him a dubious glance. "Right now, I think we're lucky if Andrea remembers his own name. He's had that stunned expression on his face ever since I saw him this morning."

"Not just this morning," Carl said. "Ever since he and Tatiana found out they had a baby on the way. He's still not managed to entirely wrap his mind around the idea."

"As if it can have been that much of a surprise when he's been an active participant," William said, still searching for their host. "Though they really messed up the timing, I can't imagine that was deliberate."

Amedeo smirked. "Well, we _are_ talking about Andrea and Tatiana." It had been a highly entertaining few weeks: first the wedding invitations, delivered in person with that particular blend of nervousness and quivering excitement they all could sympathise with only too easily. Followed, a mere two months later, by the announcement that while the wedding was still on, there'd be a few alterations to the plans due to unexpectedly expecting circumstances. "They do realise that it's permitted to have a wedding without a pregnant bride, right?"

Carl shrugged. "Carrying on family traditions. After all, he was present at his own parents' wedding, so to speak, and his mother managed the same feat a second time."

"At least nobody can claim they scheduled the wedding because of the pregnancy," Amedeo said. "As if Tatiana would deliberately want to resemble a small elephant on her big day." He blinked when his three companions all shot him pained looks, and glanced at his Mai Tai. "I said that out loud, didn't I?"

"He was out of the country whenever anyone in his family was pregnant," Guillaume explained to Carl and Wills with a shake of his head.

Wills frowned at that. „Hasn’t Anna just had her second girl?“

„Yes, but she uses Félix as her main target of disapproval, around Amedeo she’s sweetness personified. There has been no need for him to develop survival strategies.“

"That much is obvious," William said, frowning disapprovingly. "Amedeo, do us all a favour: if you have to make comments like that, don't stand so close to us. I'd hate to be hit by the fall-out when she smites you."

"But she's such a relaxed and laid-back person," he protested, though it took some effort not to turn around and check that the lady in question wasn't standing right behind him.

Carl heaved a sigh. "So much left to learn for you, young padawan," he muttered. "Guillaume, you really need to train him better if you don't want to become a widower before long."

They chatted a little longer, until it was time to find their assigned dinner companions. From his spot to William's left, Amedeo watched with a certain degree of amusement as Mette-Marit latched onto his husband's arm and the pair immediately struck up a vivid conversation.

"It probably shouldn't surprise me anymore that he's capable of casual talks with anyone outside his immediate peer group," William said when he followed the direction of Amedeo's look, "but nonetheless it's an odd combination. Those two have puzzled me for years."

"Don't ask me why," Amedeo said with a shrug. "They've been getting along this well even before he and I took up with each other. It's just of those fortunate coincidences, I think. Like Carl and Andrea, something along those lines."

For some reason Wills shot him a very strange look at that comment. "That's... never mind. Still... amazing. I used to wonder if Mette-Marit has special powers."

Feeling like some defense of Guillaume was in order, Amedeo glowered back at him. "He's not that bad," he said loyally.

William easily held his gaze, amusement dancing in his eyes. "Yes, he is, and you know it. Is he doing any better with his workload, by the way?"

The queue ahead of them began to move at that moment, and Amedeo carefully shuffled his steps to avoid tripping over the dress train of Madeleine, who was walking right in front of him, dutifully escorted by Pierre. "We're getting there," he said eventually. "Félix has been picking up a lot of the minor tasks, that's a huge help, and Philippe is only recruiting me when it's completely unavoidable, so I'm mostly focused on Luxembourg as well. It's still a struggle to keep Guillaume from simply filling up his schedule again once we've managed to shovel some of the excess duties to other people, but at least he's no longer in any immediate danger of keeling over."

They'd had a few close calls throughout winter, times when Amedeo hadn't even seen him for days because Guillaume had been so overworked that he'd not managed to make it home for the night, and slept on the sofa in his office instead. Arguing hadn't had any effect, and he hadn't been able to collect him at night and drag him home either; in the end, frustrated beyond belief, Amedeo had resigned and just left comfortable pillows and a blanket for him, and had conspired with Félix and Guillaume's parents to poach as many assignments as possible behind his back. It wasn't something he cared to repeat.

"So I don't need to talk to him again?" Wills wanted to know. "Good, it's always a little awkward to tell him that he's being an idiot."

"Hey," Amedeo protested mildly.

"It's not like you don't do it, too."

"Yes, but I married him, so I'm allowed." Ahead of him, Madeleine came to a sudden halt and he had to skip a step and shuffle sideways to avoid an incident with her dress. Slight protocol complications aside, it was so much easier to escort another man. No incidents with stiletto heels getting stuck in-between floor tiles, no risk of tripping over floor-length skirts, no need to be chivalrous and carry suspiciously heavy handbags. And since William knew how the rules for male couples worked, it was an overall practical combination. Two pairs ahead of them, Amedeo could see Haakon and Carl have occasional misunderstandings due to heterosexual manners interfering.

Dinner turned out to be more formal than expected, given that this was Monaco. That it was white tie had been clear and unavoidable from the start, and Amedeo had sighed deeply and unearthed his gala uniform and orders. Andrea had better be grateful; he certainly wasn't wearing plumed hats just for anyone.

They sat through the prerequisite five courses - surprisingly edible for formal dining which, in Amedeo's experience, tended to consist entirely of food no normal person could ever want to eat - along with speeches and official congratulations, unavoidable in such a context. He was faintly impressed that Andrea was by now capable to speak in whole sentences again despite the disbelieving look he still wore.

"They're not pulling any stops, are they?" he remarked halfway through dessert (the sort of rich chocolate mousse that clearly catered to the bride's condition, and which had elicited a purr of delight from the equally pregnant Princess Madeleine seated to his right).

"Andrea's got something to prove, it's as simple as that," William said, eyeing his mousse a little sceptically. "And after that train wreck that was his uncle's wedding, he had to do it properly."

"It would be hard to do it any less properly than that," Amedeo muttered. He hadn't attended since he'd still officially been a refugee to the real world at the time, but his parents had drawn the short straw and been assigned as the Belgian representatives. Six years later, they were still shuddering at the memory. "He must have at least three times as many blue-blooded guests as Albert did."

Wills grinned. "And at least half of those weren't initially invited," he agreed. "How many did you and Guillaume talk into coming?"

"Aside from the obvious ones, like our siblings? Everyone with an Archduke in front of their name, among some others. I assume you're responsible for the Scandinavians?"

"Not like it took much convincing since they actually like Andrea, but yes," Wills said. "I think Carl's parents came as a bit of a surprise, though."

The King and Queen of Sweden certainly weren't among guests to be expected at the wedding of someone who wasn't even an officially designated heir yet, merely the friend of their son. But it was the sort of signal Andrea desperately needed, a show of acceptance by the _proper_ royals, whose ancestors had escaped being called pirates because whenever they sank ships, they did it in greater numbers and with more colourful flags. It had been for that very reason that his friends had called in favours left and right to make the nobility attend, and had personally vouched for the acceptability of it all, with the result that Andrea had all those seated at his wedding banquet who'd snubbed the last Grimaldi wedding.

Royal networking in action, once again.

"At least the press can't claim that nobody cared." William gave his mousse another sceptical glance, then leaned forward. "Psst, Madde?"

At Amedeo's other side, Madeleine leaned forward as well. "Yes?"

"You wouldn't happen to want more mousse, would you? I know the cook, and she'll cut my throat next time I'm here if I dare to send this back."

Madeleine pretended to consider for a second. "Sure, pass it over."

Amedeo readily assisted in dessert transfer. From the other side of the table, one of the dutifully invited Monegasque politicians looked on in confusion at this display of royal manners.

"Pregnant princess," Amedeo supplied helpfully. "What can you do?"

If there was one thing he'd learned over the past few years, it was to duck his head and not argue when it came to dealing with well-rounded expectant mothers. With Félix and his little countess living in the apartment right down the hall from the one Guillaume and Amedeo occupied, there were plenty of opportunities to practise. After all, Félix served as a frightening example of what happened to those who incurred her displeasure.

Fortunately, it had all gone well so far. First the birth of the future Grand Duchess of Luxembourg one and a half years ago, which in had sent Guillaume into a spiral of exhilaration for weeks. The succession taken care of for another generation, the pressure finally gone... they had all breathed a huge sigh of relief at that, Guillaume and Amedeo in particular. The relatives had a cute baby to coo over, the Luxembourgers had a princess to celebrate, and nobody could be bothered anymore to frown at a heir-less Hereditary Grand Duke when there was a new miniature royal to admire. Especially now that yet another little princess had been born.

Madeleine had followed hot on Anna’s heels with her announcement of a second child, though with her it hadn't been all that surprising. And the third, of course, was Tatiana's exceptionally well-timed pregnancy, which had resulted in Andrea ending up on Guillaume's sofa just days after Félix had finally vacated it again. A sign that matters between him and Guillaume truly were improving, Amedeo figured, especially after they'd topped him up with plenty of Belgian beer and left him to recover from the strain of being a father-in-training for a few days.

"Do you know yet what it's going to be?" Amedeo asked when he got to carefully lead Tatiana through a very sedate waltz half an hour later, once it was his turn for a few minutes with the bride.

She practically growled at him. "Is there nothing else that interests you all?" she demanded to know. "First Wills, then Carl, then Guillaume, now you... what is it, are you all fussing so you can compensate for not having a womb in your relationships?"

Survival instincts kicking in, Amedeo kept his mouth shut. Tatiana might be an easy-going and relaxed woman most of the time, but that didn't make her harmless by any means. Which was a good thing, since Andrea was soon going to need someone he could trust to have his back. Once his uncle decided to hand over the country - and rumour had it that this happy event would come around sooner rather than later - he would need all the help and support he could possibly get.

"Congratulations again," he told Tatiana with a small, genuine smile as he cautiously delivered her to Haakon so he could have a few spins with her. "Andrea can count himself lucky to have you."

"He'd better be aware of that," she grumbled, then allowed the Norwegian crown prince to head off with her.

Amedeo watched for a few seconds to make certain she'd be all right - not that he had any doubts about Haakon's competence in those matters - then went off in search for his husband, last seen in the clutches of his former fictional Greco-Danish girlfriend. He finally discovered them out on the terrace overlooking the palace gardens, heads bent together as they talked.

"Cheating on me with a Nordic blonde, are you?" he asked, sliding an arm around Guillaume's waist.

Theodora grinned at him. "Well, if you leave him to fend for himself while you go have fun with the bride... Finders, keepers."

Amedeo mock-scowled at her. "I found him first," he said.

"Am I allowed to say something?" Guillaume wanted to know, comfortably leaning against Amedeo's side by now in an easy stance that was gradually coming more naturally to him.

Amedeo glanced down at him. "Not when I find you snuggled up with your ex," he said, then leaned in for a quick kiss to make sure it was understood it was a joke and nothing more.

"But she's more comfortable to snuggle up to than you are," Guillaume told him. "More padding in strategic locations."

He blinked, ignoring the disbelieving snort from Theodora for now since it didn't sound immediately threatening. "You're not supposed to care about that sort of padding, you know that, right?"

"Aesthetic appreciation," Guillaume said matter-of-factly.

Amedeo quirked an eyebrow. "Is that so," he said and glanced at Theodora. "How much wine did you pour into him?"

She returned an innocent look, complete with fluttering eyelashes and hands demurely clutched in front of her bosom. "Who, me?"

"Oh, don't bother trying to appear innocent," Amedeo told her. "I remember this whole posture from that crime series you did last year. You looked just the same, all nice and harmless, and then it turned out that you'd murdered that poor guy with a pie server."

Theodora looked thoroughly pleased with herself. "Memorable, was it?" she grinned. "I even made them use the pie server Carl designed for Vicky's wedding."

"That's very nice of you, but..." He was briefly sidetracked when Guillaume appeared to decide that nuzzling at his throat was a good idea right now. Not that Amedeo disapproved in any way, but it _was_ somewhat out of character for him. "Guillaume? Love, are you feeling all right?"

"Splendid," Guillaume murmured against his throat, and the tickle of his mouth made Amedeo involuntarily tilt his head to the side to give him better access, humming in appreciation before he remembered their audience.

When he managed to scrape together enough concentration to return his attention to Theodora, she was watching them with the sort of half-grimace that meant she was desperately trying to keep from laughing. "It wasn't me, I swear," she said between barely suppressed giggles. "Two glasses of wine, that's all he's had since he came out here with me.“

"In what, fifteen minutes?" Amedeo asked dryly. "Not everyone has your tolerance, my dearest Princess."

She tried the innocent eyelash fluttering again, and he was sure that anyone who didn't know her better would have fallen for it. Theodora, the harmless, cute princess with her blond hair and wide blue eyes and that utterly convincing smile she had in her repertoire. It was no wonder she'd kept the media fooled about her true nature for years now. Amedeo protectively curled his arm around Guillaume, partly to keep him out of her clutches, partly to make certain he'd stay upright.

"Oh, so this is where you've disappeared to," Wills said from the door leading out onto the terrace, Carl by his side. "We were about to start checking the broom closets for you two."

Amedeo shot them a plaintive look, slightly spoiled by the fact that he still had Guillaume affectionately nibbling at the crook of his neck, not even deterred by the arrival of more or less polite company. "She's tried to get my husband sloshed," he complained.

"And succeeded, I'd say," Carl remarked. "Though to be fair, Mette-Marit did her part as well. She kept sneaking him freshly filled glasses and said something about him needing to relax a bit more."

Breathing a soft sigh that left a cool rush of air against Amedeo's neck, Guillaume looked up. "Don't exaggerate," he said.

"Not drunk after all, are you?" Wills wanted to know.

Guillaume considered for a moment. "Not yet," he decided, but Amedeo still didn't let go of him, just in case. As long as Guillaume was willingly performing public displays of affection, something had to be up. "Mission accomplished?"

Wills nodded. "Yes, we got the boy toy."

"Well?" Guillaume wanted to know.

"It's a little hard to say at first glance, but he seems acceptable so far." He glanced at Theodora. "I assume he's got hidden depths."

"Hidden... hey!" she exclaimed, scowling at him, wrathful valkyrie in action. "Don't tell me you went to interrogate my friend!"

William grinned at her, not in the least concerned. "Boyfriend, he's already admitted that much. And of course we had to go and have a look at him. What sort of friends would we be if we didn't make sure you had a nice and proper guy? He could be an axe murderer for all you know."

She shook her head. "Great. So now my _potential_ boyfriend has been interrogated by my gay cousins. Couldn't you just have talked to Pavlos and Nikolaos? They already put him through an inquisition."

"Never rely on second-hand data if you can gather your own," Guillaume said. "I'd like to speak to him as well sometime tonight. After all, I owe you a favour."

Theodora heaved a sigh. "Of course. First my brothers, then my cousins, and to top it all off, my ex."

"Whom you turned gay, if you listen to the rumours," Amedeo added, his expression schooled into perfect seriousness even though the mere idea tended to be enough to crack him up.

The glower she treated him to would have been more frightening if he thought she meant it. „If he’s heard about that…“ She rolled her eyes, then turned to Wills. „Where did you leave him?“

„Downstairs bar. He seemed in need of a drink.“

Another glance up at the heavens and Theodora rushed off, wide gown rustling in her wake.

Once she was gone, William quirked an eyebrow inquisitively. "She turned Guillaume gay?"

Amedeo sighed. "Tragic, isn't it? I bemoan that cruel twist of fate."

"I don't know about _be_ moan, but you definitely moan," Wills said. "We had to ask Andrea to assign you two a guest room that's not right next to ours this time so we can be sure to get some sleep."

The way Guillaume froze up in mortified silence against him suggested that he wasn't quite as buzzed as he'd appeared. Amedeo reassuringly patted his hip and got him to lose some of the tension in response. "Use earplugs," he suggested with a wink. "Or, even better, make some noise of your own."

"That would have to be a lot of noise."

Amedeo gave him a sympathetic look. "Not up to it anymore, are you? Ah well, not everybody can have that sort of stamina."

Wills just shook his head, while Carl looked as though he were desperately trying to keep a straight face. "Now I know why they made you join the paratroopers. It must really be satisfying to occasionally toss you out a flying airplane."

The sound of steps from the doorway made them look in that direction in time to see Andrea come towards them, considerably more rumpled now than he'd been for the banquet and the opening dance, let alone the wedding ceremony itself. At that time, he'd been polished and brushed and spruced up within an inch of his life. Now his bow tie sat askew, his hair was tousled and he was wearing that same stunned expression he'd had for months, only escalated to a whole new level.

"If you plan on running, it's too late now," Carl told him, moving forward to catch him in a tight hug that was immediately returned. Andrea held on to him for a few seconds, his face against Carl's dark hair, and didn't seem about to let go anytime soon. With everything that was hinging on the success of this wedding, private as well as public matters, a friendly embrace like that probably was badly needed.

"I'm not running," he drawled, shakier than usual. "She'd catch me."

Laughing, Carl pecked him on the cheek before pulling back a little. "If you aren't running, why are you here?" he asked, his hands on Andrea's upper arms to keep him in place.

"She told me to get some fresh air," Andrea said, his smile not quite up to par to his usual standards. "Apparently I'm driving her crazy with my fidgeting and she wants a few minutes of peace and quiet now that we're done with the official stuff." He ran his hands through his hair, leaving it even more disheveled. "Why didn't any of you tell me how exhausting a wedding is?"

Carl reached up to straighten Andrea's bow tie. "Because it would only have made you more nervous. Now leave your hair alone, you're not making it any better."

Andrea let his hands drop to his sides. "You're one to talk," he muttered.

"He's improved over the years." Wills came to join them, and Carl stepped aside to let him deliver his own hug to the groom, along with encouraging pats on the back. "Anything we can do to help?"

"Aside from stopping Uncle Albert from hitting on everyone in a dress?" The lopsided grin was back on Andrea's face, but not in its usual force. "Not really, but thanks," he said, leaning in to quickly kiss Wills first on both cheeks, then on the mouth, the sort of friendly gesture among the trio that always left Amedeo wondering whether he was missing something there.

He watched as Wills let Andrea have a few seconds of peace and quiet before stepping back again, though he kept a hand on Andrea's shoulder. "Just take a minute to breathe, then. Tatiana's handling it well so far?"

Andrea nodded. " A little tired, I think, but she's got Pierre at her beck and call these days whenever she chases me off for a while."

Carl shot him a surprised look. "Pierre? What's your brother got to do with it?"

"You haven't seen him in the past weeks, have you?" Guillaume asked. "Or you wouldn't be wondering about that. Andrea, I apologise for saying so, but your brother does have his quirks."

"Definitely," Amedeo agreed with a smirk at the images Guillaume's words conjured up. For a man who didn't show any intention so far to found a family, Pierre certainly took a lot of interest in all the nesting that was going on around him these days. "He must have calmed down a little this time, though, I haven't seen him with the fake baby bump yet."

Carl and Wills stared at him.

Still comfortably tucked against Amedeo's side, Guillaume looked back. "Don't tell me you've never seen him like that."

Wills shook his head, a slightly dazed expression on his face. "I'm sure I'd remember a pregnant Casiraghi. Especially a male one."

"Well, that particular pregnant Casiraghi showed up on our front step to visit Félix and Anna when they'd just had their official baby announcement," Amedeo explained, fighting to suppress a grin. "In maternity clothes, with a fake baby bump underneath. I thought my knees would give out when I opened the door and saw him like that."

Andrea sighed. "He does that occasionally," he said. "He claims it helps him to empathise, and the girls do appreciate the gesture. These days, that attitude gets him allowed into the house a lot more often than me."

"Whyever he does it, he gave me a scare," Guillaume said darkly. "Amedeo was practically hysterical on the phone when he called, I thought something bad had happened when all I could get out of him was that Pierre was there, something with a baby was up and I needed to come home quickly."

Amedeo dropped an apologetic kiss on the crown of his head. "Sorry," he said, still struggling against laughter at the memory. "But I really couldn't risk you missing that for the world."

They kept up the easy banter between them, occasionally drawing Andrea in but letting him have some breathing space otherwise. So far he seemed to be holding up, and Amedeo saw him slowly calm down now that he was out of sight for a few minutes and in the company of friends. Public and private images were never easy to maintain, especially when one was trying as hard as Andrea was right now to avoid any and all missteps that might cast doubt on his ability to succeed his uncle.

He'd have to be careful not to push it too far; Andrea had a fairly realistic outlook on life and how to handle stress and pressure, but there was no denying that he simply didn't know yet how this would develop in the future. Guillaume had been the first to bring up that issue, at dinner with Wills and Carl a few nights ago. Personal experience, Amedeo suspected, this knowledge that duty could be taken too far sometimes (even though Guillaume still wasn't applying that knowledge to himself). Wills had picked up on it immediately, and they'd spent the rest of the evening coming up with warning signs to watch out for and measures to take if Andrea crossed too many lines.

"Ready to go back in?" Wills asked after another few minutes. "I don't mean to push, but you _are_ the groom, someone might notice that you've disappeared."

Andrea drew a deep breath and stood up straighter. "Tatiana knows where I went, and I don't care about the rest," he said. "But... well. Let's keep up appearances that she and I are actually still interested in the party."

Amedeo shared a quick look with Guillaume and saw his own thoughts echoed there, memories of their own wedding and how they'd been more than eager to get away, hours before it had been officially over. Of course, getting away had led to much more interesting private activities - it had been their wedding night, after all - and Amedeo couldn't help but collect a quick kiss at the thought.

"Looks like you aren't the only ones who don't particularly care whether they'll miss the post-midnight entertainment," Wills remarked. Amedeo fought the urge to stick his tongue out at him.

Andrea shook his head sadly. "And that when we've gone to such lengths to plan it all," he said mournfully.

"Face it, that's the downside of being in charge of things," Guillaume said, gently pushing away from Amedeo and taking a few steps towards the door. "Best laid plans, and then someone decides to interfere and hijack all the careful arrangements."

Amedeo shot him an innocent look. Guillaume sternly looked back.

"Ah well." Andrea demonstrated an elaborate combination of sighs and despairing shrugs that had to be copied from Theodora. "All I want is some appreciation, but obviously that's too much to ask."

Already moving to catch up with his husband, Amedeo veered to the left for a quick detour that brought him to Andrea's side. "Don't worry, we'll appreciate you all you want," he promised with a quick pat to the arm, careful not to wrinkle Andrea again. "As long as you provide proper incentives."

"Incentives?" Andrea asked in his trademark drawl, eyebrows waggling. "Anything in particular you have in mind?"

Amedeo gave it a moment's consideration, then pointedly glanced over his shoulder at Guillaume, who was watching them with a half patient, half resigned smile curling the corner of his mouth.

"I'd love to discuss the possibilities with you, but I'm afraid we're going to have to postpone that," he sighed. "You see, my husband tends to be a little bit possessive at times."

Andrea chuckled. "How very unreasonable of him. And selfish, too, to keep you all for himself."

"Do I need to remind you that you got married just a few hours ago?" Guillaume asked dryly, but didn't sound concerned that this might be anything but a mutual bit of joking.

"Don't be so narrow-minded," Andrea said, waving dismissively. "It's much more fun if you share on occasion."

Guillaume shook his head in the way usually reserved for Amedeo's antics. "I'll suggest that to Tatiana, shall I?"

Andrea shrugged. "It's not like she hasn't lent me to a friend in need at times."

Whatever that was supposed to mean; Amedeo didn't miss the quick look that passed between Carl and Wills at the casual comment, but he wasn't about to ask. There was teasing, and there were lines of privacy he wasn't going to cross no matter the circumstances. Not that he could fault them if they'd ever given that particular possibility a try before. It wasn't an idea that had ever really tempted him, especially not since he'd fallen for Guillaume, fallen hard enough that there was simply no room for interest in anyone else. But from a purely theoretical perspective, Amedeo could certainly see the appeal.

"That still doesn't mean I'm going to lend you my husband," Guillaume said firmly. "Mine, I got him first."

Amedeo gave Andrea an apologetic smile. "Sorry," he said. "It seems like we're not meant to be, after all."

Andrea sighed. "Tragic, truly tragic."

"Very much so," Amedeo agreed, moving in to give him a friendly peck on the cheek, his arm coming around Andrea's shoulders to draw him into a half-hug. "Congratulations again, by the way. Hang on to that woman, you hear?"

Andrea shot him a lopsided grin. "Not like I was planning to ever let her go," he returned. "I know what I've got in her."

An encouraging pat on the back, then Amedeo stepped back again. "Perfect. So don't keep her wondering any longer whether you made a run for it. Or do you want us to cover your escape?"

"Later maybe, that could be useful." Andrea looked at them all, at Wills and Carl, waiting for them by the door leading back inside, at Guillaume, for once looking at ease with such a casual situation. "Thank you, I really appreciate what you've done for us today."

Wills waved off. "As though we'd miss the wedding of a friend. Or the opportunity to see her make an honest man of you."

The off-hand remark was enough to make Andrea laugh and lose some of the sudden seriousness. "I did count on you attending, but I didn't think you'd drag half the European high nobility along with you. It's a lot more than I dared to expect, especially when everybody boycotted the wedding of Uncle Albert."

"Just wait until you get to know them better," Carl said, comfortably leaning against Wills as they stood together. "Offer food, drinks and a nice party, and they'll flock to the occasion, especially if it's a wedding. Everybody likes weddings. They just needed a little prompting to see that it's perfectly acceptable to come here."

"It's not like they're going to catch fleas from us, even if we're just a princely house." Andrea raised a hand and attempted to smooth his hair into some semblance of order again. "Anyway, thanks. I appreciate the reassurance." He winked. "And the hugs, at least from those of you who aren't afraid of me."

Guillaume heaved a sigh. "Don't flatter yourself," he grumbled. "You don't scare me."

Andrea gave him an expectant look. "Well then?" he asked with an inviting smile.

"No everybody enjoys embracing random people."

"Hardly random, am I?" Andrea opened his arms. "Come on. Just a quick cuddle. I promise I'll only bite if you ask nicely."

Keeping an eye on his husband, Amedeo surreptitiously moved into the most likely escape path, just in case. Guillaume _was_ getting better at the whole casual situations thing, but he still had his hang-ups about affectionate gestures in general and such gestures from Andrea in particular. At least he'd more or less stopped growling whenever Amedeo indulged in amiable Mediterranean-style greetings with their Monegasque friend, as long as Andrea didn't attempt more than a quick peck or two on the cheek.

Guillaume sighed once more. "Only because it's your wedding," he muttered, then took a few quick steps forward to slide his arm around Andrea's shoulders in the polite way usually reserved for particularly irritating relatives and official figures who didn't know to keep a gentlemanly distance. Amedeo rolled his eyes and made a mental note to practise cuddling. Should be plenty of fun, at the very least.

Andrea, of course, was having none of it; as soon as Guillaume was within reach he caught him in a tight embrace with no regard whatsoever that his prey froze up at the first sign that this wasn't going according to plan. To Guillaume's credit, though, he didn't try to struggle, he simply endured with the sort of stoically stiff posture that said he'd allow this indivnity for now, but that there'd be repercussions later on.

"He's been married to you for two years now, how can he possibly still be so shy about this?" Wills asked under his breath. "It's not like you aren't demonstrative enough in public."

Amedeo smirked. "I'm allowed," he said, watching as Andrea murmured something in Guillaume's ear, too quiet to overhear. "And he does manage with most people, it's just... person-specific."

And whatever it was that made Andrea a touchy subject for Guillaume, Amedeo had yet to figure out. Those two got along - a lot better now than a few years ago, when Guillaume had been completely stand-offish and Andrea had been notably cautious - and they were friendly enough under most circumstances. But Guillaume was reserved in these situations at the best of times, and whatever had gone on between him and Andrea in the past still added a wary edge to their dealings with each other on occasion.

"You can always ask Theodora to throw herself at him, that ought to desensitise him," Wills suggested.

He had to laugh at the image. "The boy toy might object. Nice idea, though."

"The boy toy had better get used to the fact that she's got close friends and that she's not exactly a woman who obeys the rules of propriety. He can count himself lucky if the most controversial thing she does is snuggle up to Guillaume on occasion."

Amedeo hoped for the man's sake that he had at least some idea what he was getting himself into. Even for royal women, Theodora was not an option for the faint of heart.

Andrea was whispering at Guillaume, who by now didn't look anymore as though he was expecting his imminent execution. With considerable astonishment, Amedeo watched as his husband made at least the beginnings of an attempt to relax. Smiling, Andrea patted his side, said something else, then stepped back.

The rest of the evening was free of incidents and scandals, as long as one ignored Prince Albert's sour smile at seeing his nephew have a much more glamorous wedding than his own, with far less effort. The Princess had vanished as soon as the cameras had been escorted out, a leave-taking which had lightened the mood considerably in the corner of the table where she'd been seated (just like in the opposite corner, where Andrea's mother had finally stopped glowering in her direction). With the media attention gone, they also could finally stop being properly royal and decorous and start partying in earnest.

"Andrea should get married more often," Amedeo mused hours later, when he and Guillaume were slowly finding their way along the now quiet hallways to their room.

Guillaume snorted. "Don't let Tatiana hear that."

"Well, not like that, obviously, but this has been far too much fun for a one-time event." Amedeo paused at a door, looked back down the corridor they'd come from, counted doorways, tried to recall which room had been theirs and figured he might as well try first and, if necessary, apologise later.

"Amedeo..."

He was halfway into the dark room when a few things registered with him, namely that first of all, Guillaume seemed to protest a bit much about him being impolite and stepping through a door in front of him rather than wait and let his husband go ahead. Then, secondly, the fact that the bathroom had moved to the other side. And, last but not least, the couple in their bed - on the wrong side of the room - who looked cosily snuggled up together, though one of them was stirring at the sound.

Amedeo came to a halt and processed this unexpected turn of events. "That's not our room, is it?" he wondered, loud enough to make one of the figures on the bed sit up. A familiar blond head surfaced from the tangled sheets, blinking at them and squinting against the light.

"Has anything happened?" Wills grumbled, raking his hands through his thinning hair.

A few bits of information clicked together. "Nah, just got the wrong door," Amedeo said brightly and began to back away. "Sorry for that."

Wills glared at him and half-suppressed a yawn. "So what are you still doing here?" he demanded to know. At his side Carl murmured an inquiry, but didn't quite wake, and Wills absently reached out to pet his shoulder.

"Admiring the view?" Amedeo said the first thing that came to mind.

A moment of disbelieving silence, then Wills snorted and got out of bed, leaving him with something to admire indeed. Somewhere behind him, he heard Guillaume make a choking noise.

"You," Wills said, grabbing him by the arm and marching him towards the door with no regard to his current state of undress, "are going to your own bed. Guillaume!"

Guillaume was doing his best to look at William's face and not an inch lower. "I am very sorry for the intrusion," he managed, and even in the dim light from the hallway, his face was bright red.

"You'd better be," Wills growled, stalking towards the door and dragging Amedeo along. "And put him on a leash so he doesn't wander off again. If he walks in on Tatiana and Andrea tonight, she'll kill him."

A push, a shove, and Amedeo was sent stumbling a handful of steps towards Guillaume, who caught him almost out of reflex. "Ah... I'll keep that in mind, thank you. William, I must apologise..."

William held up a hand in command, and Amedeo had the faint urge to stand to attention and salute. "Right now I'm not interested in anything but getting back to bed, so are you done?"

Guillaume averted his gaze, then snapped it back up almost immediately. "Yes," he said quickly, giving Amedeo a less than subtle nudge to the ribs.

"We're done," Amedeo confirmed.

"Great. Now get going and let me sleep." With that, Wills shut the door in their faces.

Flinching at the sharp sound, Amedeo turned around in Guillaume's arms to face him. "Think he'll be angry with us tomorrow?" he asked, barely suppressing a smirk.

His cheeks still red, Guillaume shook his head in a gesture that wasn't quite denial. "I hope not. Surely he cannot think you did it on purpose."

The smirk did escape him at that point; it was simply impossible to resist. "Well, if you put it like that..."

Guillaume gave him one of his flat looks. "Don't even think about it."

"What, falling into bed with Wills and Carl, even if it was an accident?" he teased. "The idea does have a certain appeal, you have to admit."

Shaking his head, Guillaume frowned at him. "I certainly don't think so."

"Oh please, you fantasised about getting Carl into bed ten years ago, you can't tell me he's completely lost his appeal," Amedeo said and almost instantly regretted his words when he saw the expression on Guillaume's face, now carefully blank. This really wasn't the time, place or state of sobriety for the sort of discussion he felt was lurking just around the corner. "I'm just saying that it's all right to look," he tried to keep it short. "As long as looking is all you do."

They held each other's gaze, quiet and serious for a minute, until Amedeo leaned in to gently rub his nose against Guillaume's.

"I'm teasing, love," he murmured. "I trust you, without any reservations. You know that."

Guillaume pulled back to meet his eyes, his mien still close to impossible to read. "You aren't supposed to say things like that."

"What, that I trust you?" Amedeo deliberately misunderstood. "But it's the truth, I might as well say it. I know that's a line you'd not cross, otherwise we wouldn't be here together." He paused, bringing up his hands to frame his husband's face and keep him from looking away. This had to be fixed before it could grow from a stupid remark into anything more serious just because he'd inadvertently hit a nerve. "I love you, and I trust you," he said, his voice intent. "There hasn't been a single moment since you've been mine that I didn't."

He felt Guillaume shake his head, just a minute gesture, and watched him blink a few times. A quiet exhalation of breath left a cool rush of air against his inner wrist. "I'd never do that to you."

Amedeo gave him a small smile. "I know. It really was just a joke, Guillaume, nothing more. And for the record, I'm not looking at anyone else either."

There was no need, after all, and no reason to feel tempted when all he could ever want was already his. He'd have to be a complete and utter fool to ever risk this, and he knew himself to be smarter than that.

Guillaume quirked an eyebrow. "You mean you didn't just glance at William?" he asked, the teasing tone not entirely convincing but getting there.

"That's an exception," Amedeo returned, readily going along. "He was standing in front of me without his clothes on, I couldn't _not_ look." He cocked his head, the beginnings of a grin playing on his lips. "But I'll leave him to Carl, if that's all right with you."

"I'm not going to protest." Guillaume sighed. "Why are we even talking about this?" he asked, just loud enough for his voice to throw the faintest echo in the wide, empty hallway.

Amedeo shrugged. "It's not as if I'm in need of anyone else beside you."

"Enough for you, am I?"

He laughed at that and leaned forward to collect a kiss, which Guillaume willingly yielded. "More than enough," he said, sliding an arm around his husband's waist to bring them together, the closeness reassuring as always. "Shall we see where our room is so I can prove it to you?"

They found their own bed - eventually - though it was a while until they even considered actual sleep. Weddings, Amedeo mused contentedly as he curled up against Guillaume, his whole body still thrumming with pleasure, weddings made for great inspiration. And as long as one wasn't part of the happy couple, it was possible to thoroughly enjoy the day without having to worry about backstabbing relatives, intrusive reporters or your brother tumbling into the fish pond.

Settled comfortably, his head pillowed on Guillaume's shoulder, Amedeo decided that while their own wedding had been a lot of fun, on the whole he preferred the quieter time afterwards. Two years as an official couple had come with the firm awareness that they were well-matched even with routine setting in, and with the discovery that they made for a solid team, privately and officially. Even the press was beginning to remark on it, now that they were finally abandoning their hopes of discovering some sort of scandal.

"Plotting something?" Guillaume asked, his voice pitched low in the darkness. "I can hear you think."

"Just wondering whether we ought to give the reporters something to write about before they grow too bored with us," Amedeo answered, smiling when his husband's hand found its way into his hair. He leaned into the touch, humming quietly in encouragement. "On second thought, it's not worth the effort to make them think we aren't boring."

"Boring is good," Guillaume agreed. "Keeps them focused on the important things. I'd rather have them pay attention to our work than to whether I'm snubbing you at some gala or you're wearing the wrong tie, or that we ought to do more of this and less of that."

Turning his head into the touches, Amedeo pressed an agreeable kiss against Guillaume's bare shoulder. "You won't get any disagreement from me on that," he said, his hand coming to rest low on Guillaume's belly, fingertips drawing idle patterns on his skin. "I was just thinking... we're good together."

The look Guillaume threw him was more than a little amused. "It took you this long to figure that out? You married me two years ago."

Amedeo scowled back at him. "Don't make me regret that," he grumbled but shifted closer nonetheless to catch one of Guillaume's thighs between his own, more out of wishful thinking than any immediate intentions - or the ability - to initiate anything. "What I mean is... this could have turned out differently." There had never been any doubt in Amedeo's mind that they'd make this work if they put some effort into, but he wasn't so romantic that he'd deny the possibility that it all could have gone wrong. This wasn't destiny - which wasn't a concept he subscribed to in any way, because when one was born into a dynasty like the Habsburgs, it was the only way to stay reasonably sane and not develop any urges to annex unsuspecting countries to rebuild an empire. No, this was something they'd built together, with the efforts they'd made and the love and energy and time they'd invested, and the occasional sheer frustration they'd gone through, and it was all the more precious for that.

Guillaume's hand stilled in his hair, then resumed its languid petting. "It could have gone differently," he agreed, his voice pitched low. "Unlikely, though, what with all the precautions and patience."

Amedeo chuckled. "Don't remind me of that time. Not that it wasn't worth it, but if I'd known then what I know now, I'd never have been able to follow through with it. I may have some measure of self-restraint, but that would be too much."

"Self-restraint?" Guillaume looked far too amused. "Yes. Of course you have that, dear. Admirable control and patience. No giving in to impulses whatsoever."

He sighed deeply. "You wound me."

"I'm sure I do. But it's been more than worth it."

A few months, and twenty years before that, from childhood companions to friends to where they were now, trusted confidants and lovers, so much more than what Amedeo would ever have dared to hope for.

"It's been worth it," he confirmed. "I hope you're ready to keep me, I don't intend to ever let you go again."

Guillaume's hand tightened against the nape of his neck, the slight pressure enough to make him almost purr with contentment. "I told you. Mine, signed and sealed."

"And vice versa. A good thing, too, it's not like we could ever find anyone else crazy enough to take you on voluntarily."

He heard Guillaume snort with amusement and glanced up at him, the very personification of innocence.

"Amedeo..."

"Behave?" he suggested, rolling closer to nuzzle at his favourite spot, smiling against the sensitive skin when he wasn't immediately rebuffed for once. Catching him by the arms, Guillaume brought him up within comfortable kissing range before he could let his hand inch any lower in faintly hopeful exploration. He let himself be distracted, Guillaume's mouth against his own always a welcome focus for attention.

They truly were good together, he thought distantly as he deepened the kiss, licking and teasing, and Guillaume readily responded in kind, his fingers still slowly threading through Amedeo's hair. It was a gesture he'd long come to associate with the last waking minutes in a day, time they shared whenever possible even if it took some effort to make it happen. Kisses, slow and comforting in their familiarity, along with touches and caresses with no particular intention beyond confirming each other's presence.

They were good together. And they'd keep it that way.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The Ties That Bind: Sheer Luck and the Sympathy of Others](https://archiveofourown.org/works/133828) by [rekishi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rekishi/pseuds/rekishi)




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